Undisclosed Desires
by Venus Darling
Summary: Rated M for language, sexual content, and mentions of substance abuse. UPDATED! CHAPTER 10 IS UP! Please, for the Love of Odin, review!
1. Your Beauty Is Not Just A Mask

**Undisclosed Desires** (Previously known as 'Misery Loves Company')

Written by **Maatlockk**

Major overhaul going on! Please be patient. I read a lot of B/V fanfictions over the past few weeks, and I'm slowly getting back into writing it again!

This piece of fiction was written a few years ago, and with age, I've grown, and I've also decided that the writing standard of this piece is substandard. I'm improving and hoping to complete this fiction as soon as I can.

I renamed this as Undisclosed Desires after the song by Muse. I heard the song one day and decided that this song will be the main inspiration of this piece of fiction; the lyrics portray Bulma and Vegeta's relationship as I would picture it; enigmatic, emotional, full of conflict. I hope this time, I will do it justice.

Non canonical, kind of. Bulma deals with depression; but no one knows because she never shows it. Continues off the badly written one off of The Breakup.

SMUT ALERT, SMUT ALERT, SMUT ALERT! Kids, go home and crack open your multiplication tables. This shit ain't for you.

Yes, I've had one of those soul searching walks where you refine your tastes and appreciate things more. I've had so much going on in my life lately. I have found new love, and it's the kind of love that makes this 23 year old woman giggle and squirm like a little girl. And he's quiet, so the first thing I thought of him when we first got together as how much he reminded me of Vegeta. XD Ah, I'm wearing a Cheshire grin.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Staring at the receipt for a very expensive meal for two at a very fancy restaurant in town, Bulma recalled the events of that particular night; angry Yamcha, bad sex, and a lot of crying. She crumpled the paper up in one hand and tossed it to the overflowing waste basket; the pile of paper on her desk had threatened to tip over, and it was getting very cluttered in her office. A few weeks ago, Bulma Briefs ended her relationship with Yamcha. Or rather, it was that he had ended it with her for the umpteenth time, and she had refused to let him back into her heart. Burying herself in her work, she had tried to shake off the depression that was closing in on her. She would wake up early and spend all day in her office reviewing plans and charts, rarely taking a break, and would come back to her empty room very late for a night of fitful slumber.

Her weeks had been uneventful, save for her heated encounters with the alien prince. Vegeta had spent his time in the gravity room, pushing himself to the edge of his limit. More often than not, his rigorous training would overload the gravity room's mechanisms; Bulma would often have to change out the blown out fuses and replace the burnt out wires on the main circuit board. It was during these few moments of the two being in the same room that Bulma felt somewhat unnerved; for a jerk alien, he was, as Bulma once thought to herself, 'absolutely yummy.' It was hard not to notice; sure, he was shorter than Goku, but his lithe form was toned and sculpted, and though he does not intend on strutting his stuff around, Bulma can't help but fantasize about him. Sure, he would probably laugh at the thought of her thinking about him like that, the way a giddy schoolgirl would; it wouldn't be the first time that he had shown her his indifference towards her existence.

"How's your training going, Vegeta?" Bulma would inquire as she plucked the smoking fuse cartridges out from the panel in the wall; the cartridges were so hot, she could feel the heat through her protective gloves.

The alien prince would always stand next to the control panel, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across his chest. Often he would respond to her questions with 'fine' in a tone that screams 'not in the mood to talk', and they would then remain in an awkward silence as Bulma continued with her repairs.

Today, the gravity room held out, so there was no need for her to go there for any repairs. She could monitor the gravity room's status from her office computer via the monitoring software; the energy consumption rate fluctuated in a graph display, signifying the brutality and force of the Saiyan prince's training. Should any part of the gravity simulator break down, Bulma would be able to diagnose the problem at her computer terminal, thus enabling her to prepare the proper tools and components necessary. Ignoring the screen, she rifled through her paperwork, signing papers and initialling diagrams and plans, her mind lost within her science. At first, it was hard to get focused on work, but with fierce concentration, she would enter a trance-like state; so engrossed in her work, she would often forget when she needed to eat and drink.

Lifting a mug of coffee to her lips, she took a sip, only to find that it had emptied hours ago; the mug was cool to the touch. Sighing, she looked up at the clock on the wall; it was past midnight. Had she really been working for that long? Only when she looked out the window into the dark Capsule Corps courtyard did she realise how late it was; she was suddenly aware of how tired she had become. Her neck and shoulders ached, and her stomach was empty. Leaving her office in a state of organised chaos as it usually is, she lazily dragged her feet towards the living complex and headed towards the big kitchen that her mother had always kept meticulously organised; a contrast to the heiress' chaotic working space.

Without much thought for taste or enjoyment, Bulma grabbed a small box of wholemeal crackers and a small can of tuna in extra virgin olive oil and snacked as she sat by the television out in the lounge. She had with her a 6 pack of beers, and she was currently nursing her 4th. It wasn't the best diet, but at least she had gotten enough of her nutritional requirements with her daily supplement intake. In terms of mineral requirements, she was getting her daily dose. As for calories, however, Bulma was barely eating enough to maintain her weight. She was petite to begin with; 5'6", had a slender waist that flared out into hips, and shoulders to match. Slowly but surely, her poor diet began taking its toll upon her. She was anaemic, overworked, overstressed, and was running on fumes. It wasn't long before she crashed; the question is when and how?

After finishing off 5 of the 6 cans of beers, she decided that she would return to her room for a quick shower and a nap. She felt grimy, and she was in desperate need of something to massage the tension out from her muscles. Alas, Yamcha is no longer her boyfriend, and even if he was, he never did figure out how to touch her delicate skin without tickling or hurting her. She was a woman in need of a man's touch, and because her relationship with Yamcha (which had been the longest and most committed of all relationships she's ever had with a man to date) was so turbulent, she often felt neglected and lost in the drama. Sex had always felt like a nuisance because she had always distanced herself when she was naked with him; she hated the thought of being vulnerable, and vulnerable she when she opened herself up to him. It was hard to achieve orgasm, and more often than not, it was always with a toy which was rigid and cold. Perhaps she was too frigid to really enjoy sex; her mind was always too preoccupied with trying to guard herself from being hurt by Yamcha's rough touch. Either way, she was starving for it, and with no means of release, the frustration was channelled into working harder and for longer hours, even if it meant living on a diet of chips and soda.

She swayed as she made her way to the stairs, singing in perfect tune to Marilyn Monroe's _Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend_; she moved her hips and arms and danced the way Marilyn did in the film, and giggled. She never could hold her drink, which was why she always stuck to soda whenever she was out in town with her girlfriends. This, of course, had earned her a reputation of being a goodie-two-shoe of the social sphere. Only at home could she dance and be carefree as she was, but only if her parents were out, and lucky for her, they were on their third holiday cruise for the year. One more step, and she would have reached the top of the stairs, but before her foot could land on the soft grey carpet, a voice spoke from the bottom of the stairs: "You're drunk."

Signing, she slumped and hung onto the new stair banister that her mother had had installed during the last bi-yearly redecoration; most of the time, it would involve changing out key furniture pieces or major reupholstering, but occasionally, Bunny would see something in Country Home, like the Italian style marble counter tops, or in this case, mahogany stair banisters, and would often have the entire house in chaos as a construction team often laboured while trying not to knock over the very, very, very, VERY expensive (as Bunny would always describe) designer vase made by some new up and coming artist that seemed to be so popular amongst her mother's art circles. The asymmetrical oddly shaped black vase was on a pedestal in the middle of the hallway, just behind the alien prince, who stood at the foot of the stairs. He wore very little clothing, as usual; a pair of low cut khaki shorts that hung dangerously low on his pelvis. It was painful trying to ignore the man; sure, he may have been a jerk, but he has a certain air of mystery about him, one that made Bulma feel that whatever it is he had gone through before had hardened him into this cold, ruthless predator, and that he could not have helped it.

"Uhuh." She didn't want to give the prince any more reason to stick around; partly because she might not be able to hide her excitement any longer if he were to come any closer. Damn, these good looking men; why can't they put a shirt on? When he didn't say anything else, she continued; "Did you want something? Whatever it is it's going to have to wait until Monday."

The prince rolled his eyes, and commanded, "Tomorrow, noon, at the very least. I haven't got time to waste getting drunk off my ass like you do; I need to train." Without another word, he left, and Bulma stood against the banister, watching as the silent enigma of a man walked away, her eyes wandering down towards his rear end, which looked delicious in those low sagging pants. She wasn't going to introduce him to a belt any time soon, but her raging hormones were getting a bit harder to ignore within the past few weeks. It had been 2 months since her last date; Todd, or Ted, was it? Who knows, really; all that she remembered was that the sex was just as miserable, and did nothing to alleviate the aching want that so tormented her.

As soon as he was out of sight, she walked quickly to her room, locked the door and shed her clothes in record time. She turned on the cold shower and closed her eyes and winced at the sudden drop in temperature. Goosebumps pulled her skin taut; deciding that she had had enough, she turned the warm water on and spent the next half hour showering, enjoying the bath products that she had purchased at a high end boutique. It wasn't because she believed in any of that aromatherapy hocus pocus that she preferred high end beauty products; they just smell nicer, and her nose had always been easily irritated. Her mother even told her how when she was 7, her mother had taken her shopping at a department store, and when they had walked past the perfume section, young Bulma puked right there and then. Cloying synthetic smells were nauseating; she preferred subtle smells, something that doesn't overwhelm the senses.

Her favourite smells were lavender, frankincense, and pine. The steam was laced with essential oils, and the heat from the steady shower stream eased the tension in her shoulders. As she lathered up her sides and her breasts, her mind inadvertently wandered, and for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it was like to have Vegeta next to her right then, and how it would feel to press up against him, wet and naked.

"I am so gonna regret this..." she groaned to herself as she became lost in her imagination. Her teal hair damp, pressed down against her skull, her skin mottled red because of the heat... she knew that any man (any STRAIGHT man that is) would find her attractive. She was well aware of how men looked at her; more often than not, they were anything but discreet.

Would Vegeta look at her like that, if she were naked and exposed to him, as she was in the shower? Or would he think of her as something hideous and malformed, it disgusted him to see her naked? Ah, the voices of insecurity; for an heiress with everything she could ever have wanted, she was still afflicted by low self-esteem. Being abused didn't help; it obliterated any and all traces of it. Only when she was drunk or high could she push the voices away into a box and lose herself completely. She made sure she was alone whenever she did get wasted; these days, socialising was low on the list. She preferred to be distracted from her personal problems by ploughing through her workload at break neck speed. But when she did have a moment to herself, and if she was feeling just right, she would let herself fantasize about how it would be like to have a man like Vegeta between her legs, how she knew that the stubble on his face would tickle her skin, and she would surely gasp... it would feel especially delicious to have his head between her legs; she could almost hear herself moaning wantonly.

She used her fingers and both hands on herself, and continued to dream about the alien prince. She would probably rake her nails down his already scarred back if he did take her; would he hate how she sounded? Would he not want to look at her face? With heroic effort, she ignored the voices in her head and thought about how his lips would taste like, how his cock would feel, pounding in and out of her cunt... before she knew it, she felt her own release wash over her; her knees wobbled, her eyes rolled back as far as they could, and thank God her parents were away, because her moans were echoing off the Italian tiles, and she was well aware of how loud she was.

Her skin prickled under the heat, and as soon as it was over, she realised how tragic it was to have been alone on a Friday night, with no one to make love to but herself. The shower felt too hot all of a sudden, so she lowered the temperature to shower off one last time. When she was dried, well lotioned and in bed, she imagined what it would be like to have the prince hold her. Yamcha never held her, even though she did enjoy it immensely. And again, for the second time that night, she allowed her mind to wander again. But just as she was about to take her knickers off and make love to her imaginary prince, she glanced at the empty space next to her in her king sized bed, and sighed. Feeling sorry for herself, she decided against it, and pulled the covers over her, eyes closed, tears flowing; when sleep came, her pillow was damp with tears.

END CHAPTER 1

So... whatcha think?


	2. I Know You've Suffered

**Chapter 2**

Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to Amy Winehouse; I loved the song _Fuck Me Pumps_ (I'll be alluding to this later in the fic. It was Amy's music that inspired me to.) Much love, sweet angel; RIP.

Also, thank you for the kind reviews! Don't hesitate to critique; I am in need of a good warm up because I've been neglecting my writing skills... not on purpose. I had depression issues. :P Chapter 2 was accidentally deleted when I was 1000 words in, but it's ok, part of life. I had a baked potato from the university cafe, and a tuna rice ball later on. It's all good. And if you do want me to write more often, please do review. It's essential to us writers, like how water is to a plant.

I talk about clothes in this, but trust me, it's nothing like _My Immortal_, I promise. It has a lot to do with gender and sexuality. So definite sex themes in this one; kids, why are you here? Go play elsewhere before I call the cyber police and have you back-traced! YOU DUN' GOOFED! (That's still funny, right?) I also talk about how the effects of abuse from one's partner can damage a person. I know this because I've lived it. 7 years on, I still experience sudden panic attacks. It's was _that_ fucked up.

Also, if you can guess the pop culture reference (a paraphrase of lyrics to a song, namely Gaga songs, phrases heard on TV shows like ANTM or on film, and so on,) point it out. :D I wanna see how many of you little monsters are out there. Paws up, darlings!

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><p>Last night's sleep was plagued by dreams of inadequacy, of inferiority, of abuse; no, they weren't dreams, they were nightmares. Waking up to the sound of loud pounding at her door, she groaned and tossed in bed, wishing that she could just stay in for the day. Not if the angry alien had anything to say about it; "Woman, I need you to fix the gravity room again; your tardiness is costing me time that I don't have. Now get your ass into gear and fix the damned thing." His footsteps faded as he stormed away, probably headed towards the kitchen to fill his bottomless-pit of a stomach with the contents of the entire fridge.<p>

Getting up, she stretched and headed towards the bathroom to wash her face. She turned on the tap water, made sure that it was nice and warm and splashed her face. She turned it off, squeezed a small amount of the organic geranium face wash into her hands and lathered, making sure to clean her problem spots, such as her nose and forehead, and hairline. As a little girl, though she grew up tomboy, her mother had coached her at an early age that it was never too early to start taking care of your skin; 'you'll appreciate it later, trust me,' her mother used to say. For once, she agreed with her; her skin looked flawless. She turned the water back on and rinsed, patter her face dry with a fresh face towel, and used unscented lotion on her face and on her body; because it was daytime, she used the face lotion that had SPF.

Yes, Bulma Briefs is a girly girl on the inside; she liked looking good because it made her feel good, and she refused to apologise to anyone who thought of her as a slave to the patriarchal scheme; no, being a woman isn't about being tough as men and shedding one's feminine identity, it was about embracing being female and being strong and willing to fight to be heard. She often laughed at the butch feminists who insisted that skirts were anti-woman, and that they only wear baggy pants because they didn't care for fashion. She knew that men paid attention of you dressed to flatter your body shape, and she loved that she could command their attention if she wore the right type of clothing to suit the mood; currently, she wore faded and torn jeans with a baggy boat neck top that hung off her shoulders. Her black bra straps showed, and she wasn't afraid of letting it show.

The bra she wore was lace, and she had on matching panties. She used to hate lace; it irritated her so much that for a while, she refused to wear any lace undergarment. Lately, however, she couldn't get enough of it. A few weeks ago, she spent a good $2000 at a lingerie boutique at the Everly Arcade (situated in the posh side of town) on black and red lace undergarments. She had fun picking them out; she imagined what it would be like to have a man kiss her through lace, thought of how she wanted so much to seduce a man, have him pay his undivided attention to her as she wore nothing but lace. She decided from that day onward that lace was a necessary feminine luxury. A lady in lace is a lady to be worshipped, and she wanted so desperately to be worshipped as a goddess, to awe a man with her curves and the swaying of her hips. Oh, to be someone's Venus; this particular Venus loved her lace. And leather; lace and leather together? Forget about it; she could watch herself in the mirror and touch herself all night long.

Casual was an easy and comfortable style that Bulma enjoyed; her workplace (except the corporate HQ) had a casual dress code. At HQ, she would wear pumps that screamed FUCK ME, paired with stylish work outfits that flattered her body shape and often looked very well tailored; she was often complimented on her excellent taste, and all the girls at work wanted to know where she purchased that cute jacket, or those to die for charcoal wool slacks. But since today was a day where she'll likely be dealing with messy hydraulics and sharp tools, casual was the way to go. She knew she had what it takes to pull off sexy casual; she was sure that she could have any man she wanted. Except for the prince that often visited her in her imagination; he was a cool and distant character, a man whose presence leaves a trail of enigma and mystery behind him.

One thing that she was certain about Vegeta was that he wasn't shallow like most men that she had dated, Yamcha included. Vegeta would probably find her just as attractive in jeans and a torn shirt as he would if she were wearing a dress. That was, if he found her attractive at all to begin with; that was one big 'if' that unsettled her. She was used to being the woman in charge; with a man, she just wanted to be held and taken care of. She couldn't remember the last time that she felt so excited because of a man; what she felt when she was around Vegeta was something magnetic and powerful, and she couldn't help but worry if he saw it, and if he thought any less of her for feeling the way she did. It took every inch of control to not squirm when he looks at her with his intense brown eyes. Speaking of inches, she couldn't help but wonder what he would feel and taste like in her mouth; would it make her gag? Would her jaw click if she took him in her mouth entirely? Would he make a sound, or would he be completely silent? Trying to conjure up an image in her head of the scenario left her feeling as though her thighs were caressed with silk, and she felt the familiar ache that longed to be soothed with every inch that he could fit into her; fuck, she was horny, and she was horny for a very unfriendly and grumpy alien.

Vegeta's quiet ways was often misconstrued as rudeness or arrogance, but Bulma knew better; he was just reserved. She could only guess the shell that he had to hide under to survive under Frieza's lordship; she knew what it was like to withdraw and to turn one's heart into stone so that pain does not come, but what she had gone through was hardly comparable to the things that he must have suffered through. Show no emotion, because emotions are a weak spot. It's manipulable, and Frieza was more than happy to use it against his underlings to keep them in line. Control is an emotional thing; to be controlled by someone is to respond to the emotions that they inflict upon you. That much she learned the hard way during her time with Yamcha; he made her cry because he could, and he was happy that he had her under his thumb while he was out gallivanting with his friends ad clubs, getting wasted on a nightly basis, spending _her_ hard earned cash. She couldn't, no, didn't want to imagine what sick and twisted mental games Frieza must have played on Vegeta. A tyrant is more than just a mass murderer; a tyrant is cold and will make you do things against your will because he can. A tyrant feeds off of control; at the sign of emotion, the tyrant will use it to make you sorry you dared to have any feelings at all. All she knew was that Vegeta was taken by the Ice Jinn when he was still very young, and that now, he and Goku are the only pure-blooded of their kind.

The thought of how that must weigh upon his shoulder, being the Prince, a dying race... she couldn't help but mourn for his loss. Sure, he was irritating, demanding, drinks from the milk carton, and was warm and personable as a death ray machine; none of these disguised the fact that he was destined to be a king without a crown, without a queen, without a kingdom. His lineage stopped with him, and he was currently training himself to death trying to achieve his birthright; something that frustrated the prince greatly, considering how a low ranking soldier like Goku (goddamn Kakkarot!) was able to achieve the legendary ascension without trying. She may have retorted whenever he tried to get onto her nerves, but she knew it was just his way of interacting with people. It was apparent that that was how he and the others were treated under Frieza's command. She knew all about hiding; she's hidden behind one her entire life. During her time with Yamcha, she went to great lengths to hide any traces of abuse that she was suffering; she was sharp tongued, and she used her wit like a sword to keep people at arm's length. The wit and the cutting remarks were all just a mask; a cold, cruel mask. She knows this, because she sees it in him, and she sees it in herself. She couldn't help but wonder about what he really was like on the inside behind the shell. She wanted more than anything to see the real him, to flood his pain away with her love; but knowing Vegeta, it would probably be a cold day in hell before any of that happened.

Today, the gravity sensor wasn't working properly; it must have gotten damaged when Vegeta impacted upon the site during his vigorous training. He was there, and he was helpful, even; he handed her tools while she fixed some of the electronics that were under a floor panel; he knelt next to her while she crouched into the small space, fiddling with electro-whatevers, and working diligently with Vegeta's assistance. He wore nothing but training shorts that hung above his knees; as usual, they sagged pretty low off his hips, and Bulma was trying so hard not to stare at his bronze figure that was practically on a pedestal in her face at the moment. It was a well known fact that women have a better sense of smell than men. Right now, she could smell his musk in the air between them; his skin smelled like the morning dew and sun and raw masculinity. She ached, and she hoped to Kami that he didn't notice it.

When all repairs were done, she put all the devices back in place and place her tools on the floor before standing up to get out of the waist high floor space. To her surprise, Vegeta offered her his hands, and without a word, helped her get up and out. His hands were strong, alright; he lifted her out effortlessly, and when she was out, she stood before him, hand in hand; for a fleeting moment, she wished desperately to have those arms around her; before she let that thought continue any further, with a cold hand, she stuffed it back into her heart, into a small box on a shelf. Wanting someone desperately was bad enough; wanting someone who in all likelihood did not find her to be desirable was not only pathetic, it was tragic. Shakespeare would have jizzed his pants if he were to witness her life on stage.

She flashed him a grateful smile and turned to pack her tools; but he held her hands tightly, she couldn't shake him loose. Suddenly, she panicked. Yamcha was only beginning to use force on her when they had broken up; she remembered angry hands that hurt her wrist, hands that grabbed at her upper arms till they bruised. Adrenaline rush; heartbeat sounds louder in the ear, and her stomach feels like a million butterflies was set loose inside her. It was hot and cold at the same time. This was the price you pay for putting up with an abusive boyfriend; the mental damage that you experience trains you into subconsciously reacting to an action that often preludes an act that would hurt her, like some twisted form of Pavlovian conditioning. When Yamcha twisted and turned in bed, she would often panic because he sometimes hit and shoved at her in bed when he was angry with her. Panic caused her health to deteriorate to the point where she was on serious medication and would often have to smoke weed just to get the will power and determination to get through the day.

She stiffened; he noticed. He looked into her eyes and recognised panic. He sees that she is also hurting on the inside; he gently lets go of her hand and gently cradles her head in his strong hands; hands that have killed thousands of innocent, hands that have broken bones and ripped foes in two. Ever so gently, he brought her face closer to his; she held her breath and closed her eyes and waited for it. She felt his lips on her forehead, lips kissing her brow, her cheek, and then her lips. Lips that gently melded with hers; they were soft and warm and full; for those lips, she would gladly walk through hellfire in gasoline soaked pyjamas. Her heart leapt and soared, and she felt lightheaded. She was swooning. But she never swooned before!

Before she could respond to any of it, he abruptly pulled away and without a word, left the area, leaving her standing in the empty GR, dazed and excited. She packed her tools and left; there was no sign of him. She went back to her room to smoke more weed and listen to music; anything to distract her from her raging libido at the moment. She wasn't even sure if what had happened was real, or whether if it was a figment of her imagination. She closed her eyes, and tried to remember what she felt; heat from his face as he was close to her, lips that were warm and soft and so gentle, and musk. She blasted her music and danced her pent up energy out in her room, playing everything from Nine Inch Nails to The Killers. Things were getting interesting, and she felt excited, and was strangely looking forward to more of it; though under threat of death, she wouldn't admit it, not even to herself. She couldn't remember the last time she smiled the way she did.

**End chapter 2**

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><p>OK, thank you to the three people who wrote reviews to my fanfic. Muffin person, Infatuated person, and Jade person. THANK YOU! :D<p> 


	3. Sinner, Your Innocence Is Mine

**Chapter 3 – You May Be a Sinner, But Your Innocence Is Mine**

**Author's note:** 2 more reviews in 24 hours of uploading the previous chapter! You guys know how to make a girl happy. And I've been monitoring the stats; chapter 2 has had over 100 individuals browse it. As a writer, it's exciting to see your work being well received. . This is for you guys!

OK, I need a beta reader. I suck hairy Butter's chin balls (guess which episode of what series) when it comes to proof reading my own work. There's too much anxiety about reading one's own work again and wondering what the critiques might say; it's pretty daunting.

No one spotted the ANTM cycle 10 Miss J quote? Shame... lol! I love pop culture reference, and I'll pop them in when I can just for the fun of it. Last chapter had Marilyn (I adore the darling!) with the famous song from the film _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_. Current song playing while writing this:_ I Throw My Toys Around by _No Doubt featuring Elvis Costello; it was featured in the film _Rugrats in Paris_.

Also, there are about 5 visitors who read this story who were from New Zealand. Which part you guys in? I'm in earthquake central! Kia ora!

Sorry for the delay; mental health issues calls. FUCK YOU, FLUOXETINE. Also, I LOVE YOU, PROFESSOR WIKIPEDIA

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><p>A month went by. Not a word was spoken between them, and the tension was building up, the way flammable gas does in a closed room; all it takes is a spark, and Bulma was well aware of the fact. Trying to act cool around Vegeta was harder than it seemed; at the mere sight of him, she could feel a rush of adrenaline, and she often felt like jumping out of her skin every time their eyes met. Other than the dark circles around his eyes, he looked as alert as ever. Bulma, on the other hand, seemed to waste away under her clothes; this morning, when she got dressed for work, her jeans sagged off her hips so much that she had to wear a belt down to the last inner-most notch; her hip-bones were jutting out, and every time she looked at herself in the mirror, she would look at how flat her stomach had become, and maybe it's ok if she missed another meal. Try as she might, she couldn't muster the appetite to consume enough food to maintain her body weight; she wanted to need to taste food, but often times, she failed to find pleasure in eating.<p>

A long, tortured sigh escaped her lips; time was 4.42pm, and sustenance consumed since 7am came in the form of a mussel pie that came from the bakery down the road, and a mug of milk. Work progress - nil. Shuffling paper, moving things around, moping... she intended on getting work done, but first she needed to calm down; it was Monday, she was feeling like crap, and she was also on edge about the whole Vegeta situation. He had disappeared for almost 4 weeks after that sudden display of tenderness, and had only shown back up a couple of days ago, and Bulma's hormones were once again in full swing. Just as she managed to purge her thoughts of anything to do with Vegeta, her phone beeped again; it was a text from Yamcha. One of the few that he had sent to her recently; apparently, he hasn't learned his lesson. _'I miss u, B. I'm sry for all tht I've done; I'm lost wthout u! Y- oxox luv u so much!_' If there was anything else that Bulma Briefs despised, it was txt language. His insistent texting and pleading messages that she had to filter through her voice mail drove her up the wall; she had blocked his number, but he would get a new prepaid number and resume texting her. The choice of obtaining a legal restraining order did occur to her, but she was sure that it would get out to the media and end up biting her in the ass in the end. No, better just ignore the bastard.

When she didn't reply, he called; the unidentified number appeared on screen. She declined the call and let it go to voicemail. There would be another text reminding her that she has new voicemail; she was curious to hear what this idiot was going to say next. It would at least amuse her for a little while; hearing him plead and whine like the little prat that he is; opening her voice mail, she could hear him slurring drunkenly, snivelling and barfing as he proclaimed his love for her. Dear God, this was pathetic. No work would be completed today, so she decided to take off early; she had a date with a bag of whacky tobacco to attend to. Grapes and a mug of milk made up the bulk of dinner; diet soda followed. The man she wanted has not shown the least bit of interest in her, and the man who was borderline-stalking her was a despicable loser who deserved nothing more than your indifference. What a mess; the tension stiffened in her neck muscles, and she welcomed the relief of changing from work casual to lounging around attire.

She lounged on the new designer deck chairs that her mother had recently decorated the deck with; the sliding glass doors were retracted, and the floor space expanded inwards towards the luxurious living room. It was a nice evening with a gentle southern breeze that carried with it the warmth of the tropics; in honour of nature's gift that was the summer breeze, Bulma decided to spend the rest of the day unwinding in the soft evening sun with drinks, some smokeables and a red bikini. The drink she happened to be nursing was a very filled up tall crystal tumbler of mojito, made with fresh imported sugar cane juice, Key lime and organic mint; every little thing in the Briefs' household was a luxury, alright. If you wanted sugar, you have a choice of organic Demerara sugar, organic cane sugar, or organic brown sugar; all of which are fair trade of course, and would often cost an absurd amount. "There would be no white sugar in this household; oh no, especially not those packets; those hideous packets! Cheap, disgusting; I won't have them in my house!" Bunny once said.

Closing her eyes, she struck the lighter and lit the resinous flower buds in the cone of her silver pipe; it was an ornamental pipe made of silver that she had found at the bottom of a clearance bin at the second hand shop; she had paid a full $5 for it. The weed was home grown in one of the many laboratory rooms on the complex; ah, the advantages of having your own military grade laboratory in your backyard, she mused. And the public image that was expected of her because of her position as the heiress of the corporate empire; fuck, it was all too much. When was the last time that she had spent on something that she had actually enjoyed? And then there was always the parental guilt/argument of 'you were given everything you could have ever wanted; why can't you be less selfish?' Was it wrong to want more? Life on a pedestal looked glamorous, but at times, especially now, it can be very dull; there was no soul, no heart in it. She may be a grown woman, but she couldn't help but feel as though she was living in a gilded cage; parents with high expectations were bad enough, but ones who were always reminding her of the importance of her image as THEIR daughter, someone whose behaviour will be reflected on THEM... it was too much at times.

And it doesn't help that an abusive person was currently trying to win back her sympathy; at first it came off as pathetic, but after a while, she couldn't help but feel scared of him. He hadn't attempted anything yet, but she knew him well enough to guess that he would go to almost any lengths to get his way. Or perhaps she was being paranoid; he was an abusive jerk, and he refuses to leave. That's all; it'll blow over, surely it will. Fuck. She hoped so, at least; he had been the only man that she allowed herself to fall in love with, and what a great fucking idea that turned out to be.

Another puff of smoke, she held it in her lungs for as long as she can; light headedness from lack of oxygen, the gradual increase in all her senses... painfully, she blew the smoke out and gasped. It was as though the lights were turned on; the colour seemed brighter, and she was able to shut away the sound of everyone else, including the nagging voice in her head. Lying back onto the very plush cushion of deck chair, she crawls into herself, finding her centre; a place that she can only be in when the other voices are shut out; the angry, critical, mean, demeaning voices in her head; each and every one of them whispered words of doubt, words of irrational fear, words of jealousy, envy, rage... But for now, under the influence of substance, she was able to relax and be alone in her head.

After applying sun screen lotion, she laid back and, stretching backwards, she arched her back off the chair and points her toes; the stress that settled in her joints slowly dissipated, and was replaced with a pleasant ache. Unaware that there a pair of eyes were watching, she runs her hands down her neck, onto her chest, and down to her stomach, willing the malaise away. She had her eyes closed, and her head sideways, facing towards the open lounge space. She kept stretching and unfurling, and as she did, she sighed and groaned as the tension melted away. She felt like a cat bathing in the sunlight, and she almost purred with contentment. Her senses were heightened, and she savoured the heat, feeling alive, which was welcome change compared to the cold frigid air in her study that was shut away from bright sunlight; outside, in the sun, she felt like a flower opening up the light, feeding off of the sun's energy. Closing her eyes, she tried to drift off to sleep; just as slumber stole her away, her mind drifted to the alien prince...

The wounds on his brow was fresh and still gushing; the white towel was soaking up and turning red, the overflow dripping down his angular face, down his chin and onto his chest. This annoyed Vegeta greatly; the bleeding wound would not cease its outpour, and it had been nearly an hour since he had injured his face after a piece of shrapnel from an exploding combat droid caught him just above his right eye. Standing in the kitchen, he scoured the freezer compartment for ice to constrict the vessels; it should at least help lessen the bleeding, hopefully giving the wound time to clot and close off. With one eye swollen nearly shut, one hand rummaging for ice cubes and a zip bag, he was steady and his moves were assured and confident. The bloody towel went into the dirty laundry basket in the linen closet; ice pack held to his head, he grabbed a clean towel and cleaned the bloodstains off his face. The smell of blood will always remind him of death and destruction, agony and pain, and the harrowing sorrow that comes after; it was an olfactory response that has developed after a lifetime spent on the battlefield.

Today was not a day for bad memories, he thought. Granted, he may not have achieved his goal yet, but he was determined on trying. And with great facilities provided to him by the generous Briefs family, he was more than taken care of; he enjoyed the luxury of having clean towels and clean clothes at his disposal; the household chores are done well, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was how it would have been had Frieza never came to his home world. The Briefs family were practically royalty; money, power, influence... he couldn't help but feel ashamed as the green eyed monster bit his heart. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he envied the blue haired woman and her life. Sure, the world might come to an end soon, but she at least had a chance to grow up knowing what it was like to be loved; the empty space in his soul where love should have been was sealed up with concrete, and it felt just as cold. Despite the sunny weather and the bright flowers from Mrs Brief's impressive garden of flowers, he could almost hear the howling wind and coldness that gripped his heart.

The thudding that emanated from his wound seemed to die down as the ice stole the heat away; sighing though his nostril, he welcomed the numbing cold sensation. As he inhaled, he caught scent of a smoky and intoxicating aroma; following his nose, he walked through the wide corridors of the luxurious four storey mansion towards the centre den that opened to the outer decks. Stretched out on the reclined deck chair, he saw the object of his envy; she was stretched out, at ease, completely unfazed, it seems, of the impending danger of the advent androids. He stood a while away from her, observing her as she basked, completely oblivious to his presence. A sudden awareness of how long it had been since he bedded a woman left him unprepared against his own perverted behaviour; he stayed in the shadowed hallway watching her, keenly observing every nuance of her curves. He dared not make his presence known for fear that she might disappear or that she might start shrieking at him. He watched her as she sat back up, smoking from a silver pipe. Intrigued, he pondered venturing over, but before he could move, he heard her speak out to him.

"Are you alright, Vegeta?" she observed him as she lay there; her brows knitted when she registered that he was wounded, she stood up and walked over to him.

His guts coiled like a serpent; he noticed her blue eyes were half-lidded from intoxication. Sure, he's had his share of women in the past; as a prince, he felt that it would be unbecoming of him to force himself onto a woman, so all those he bedded were willing whores or fellow female soldiers; they came from all walks of life, coming from all different quadrants of the known galaxy, but all shared the same broken spirit that seemed to be quite the fad when that guy Frieza was still around. It was rare to see someone so new, vibrant and alive like the heiress.

When he said nothing, she beckoned for him to come closer. "Come here and sit with me; I'll get a first aid kit and take care of that wound for you. And after that, you can join me for a drink; the sun's out and it's absolutely divine here on the deck." She flashed him a carefree smile; something he rarely noticed from her. Sure, he'd seen it a few times, but she was withdrawn after she returned to her weakling after he was resurrected. Ah, that weakling Yamcha; killed by a Saibaman, no less. Absolutely laughable.

She began fussing about, tending to his wound; he wasn't sure what he would say to her after the kiss they shared, and he wasn't about to turn her away either, so he let her sit him down on the deck chair before fetching a first aid kit to stitch the wound up. She sat next to him, and he wasn't sure if she was aware of their thighs brushing; kissing her was a mistake, he decided then and there. She had a control over him that he wasn't sure he was ready to relinquish, but he couldn't fight back no matter how much he stubbornly thought he should.

Her touch was gentle, and she made an effort not to hurt him while mending his injury; her scantily clad body was displayed before him in all its glorious wonder. The first thing that caught his eye was how smooth her skin was; she had no significant scarring, and her body was an image of perfection. There were no angry red scars that knotted and would ache with a phantom pain every time you press too hard; her skin was as new as a babe's. Whores often had scars; some of them had been branded, since it was decided that it would be easier should they attempt to escape. A collar or a tag you can discard, but scars – some were given as punishment just to mark you. Every scar tells a tale of either victory or defeat, and he was sure that his body was battered mostly with scars of defeat. Still, he wore them with pride, for they meant that he was determined to come back and be twice as strong. But that was never the case with Frieza, was it? No, that lower class idiot finished him off and ascending into the Legendary. What more did he have to his name other than trying to prove his worth as a warrior; that is all he'll ever be, and he was resigned to his fate.

"All done; good as new," she sang, covering the wound with a stick on bandage; she smiled at him, unknowingly having broken his reverie. She sauntered to the bar area and spent a few minutes tinkering and mixing and pouring; when she came back, she had a highball glass that had layers of colours in it, of which was promptly handed to him. Effortlessly, she sat back down on the deck chair and lay back, basking the sunrays.

Awkward silence ensued.

He sniffed the drink that was handed to him; it smelled sweet. He took a sip, and decided that he liked it. He gulped it down and relished the searing sensation as alcohol streamed down his throat. He could hear her giggle behind him. "What?" he gruffly said.

"You're not supposed to drink an entire glass of cocktail down like you would a shot of vodka; you're supposed to savour it." She smiled at him; her gaze met an impenetrable mask of stoicism; it unnerved her how he smouldered even when he was silent. His expression didn't change, and after a few seconds, it felt like a staring contest; staring down an alien warrior was the last thing that she needed, so she casually put on her sunnies, reclining further into the deck chair. "You should learn to take a break once and a while, Vegeta. Take a breather, enjoy the sun. I mean after all, it might not be here when the androids arrive."

Another awkward pause.

Her lack of confidence in him was apparent; he didn't defeat Frieza, why should he be the one to defeat the androids? He couldn't help but notice the sudden crushing feeling in his chest; before he let it take hold any further, he stood up and walked away. "I'll be off to resume training."

As he walked away, Bulma felt as though it was another rejection. Oh, who was she kidding; it IS a rejection. Rude alien prince! No 'please', no 'thank you', just kiss and walk away. Her ego took another beating, and she couldn't help but wonder why he had even bothered showing her that bit of tenderness in the first place if he insisted on treating her like a jerk. It was bad enough that she pined for him; he was a jerk, by Gods, she knew it all too well, but she couldn't help feeling the enigmatic pull when she looked into his eyes. Frustration bubbled up in her chest; after a while contemplating, after shot or three of whiskey later, she set off to find him. She was tired of being passive, and she intended on giving Vegeta a piece of her mind.

* * *

><p>END CHAPTER 3<p>

a/n: Sorry it took a while to update. I've been busy. ;( But do let me know what you think of this chapter.


	4. You Trick Your Lovers That You're Wicked

Fight club gas leak in the apartment reference in previous chapter... yeah, what can I say. I'm a Pop Culture nut.

Angsty lemon ahead, so yeah; with Bulma being so horny and Vegeta giving her the cold shoulder, and you guys putting up with me, I figured I'd let you guys have a pretty hot chapter. (I am for some reason reminded of the comment someone made about how Stephen King – God LOVE him – could just shit into a fax machine, fax it to his publisher and it'll be a number 1 seller. ...my mind is playing tricks on me.)

Also, if you haven't figured it out by now, it's going to be in a slightly alternate universe. Just so I have enough room to branch out and not end up like just another BV fic.

Warning: Sex and violence; because they go hand in hand.

**Chapter 4 – You Trick Your Lovers That You're Wicked And Divine**

When she saw him standing still in the corridor, she couldn't help but seek him out. She was so sure that she would be spending the rest of the day wallowing in self pity and sorrow, griping about how the only man that seemed interested in her was her loser ex boyfriend; living in a house with a sexually desirable specimen of maleness was beyond frustrating. Sure, he looks scary; he could probably hurt her more than Yamcha ever did, but that didn't stop her flesh from aching for him. She felt like she was in a dream state; getting to be so close to him, being allowed to touch him, even if it is for the sake of mending a wound.

The walk to the Gravity Room didn't take long; if anything, the extra bottle of beer that she was currently nursing as she steadily cruised sustained her buzz, loosening her tongue, her opinion ready to be heard. 'Alright, Bulma, here we go; we're gonna tear Prince Stick Up His Ass a new one; how dare he! What the hell is with him lately? First he kisses me, which was a big WOW, and then he avoids me, either because he suddenly decided that I was too ugly, or he's trying to torment me intentionally. ARGH!' her inner monologue raged. The sliding glass doors to the main building that housed Vegeta's GR and his living quarters were in sight; no turning back now. The automatic doors opened, and she walked down the corridor towards his room.

She raised her hand to knock, so sure that she would go on a tirade the second he opened the door. Before she had a chance to knock, the door opened; he stood there, scowling his usual scowl, looking pissed as fuck, his gaze so sharp, just being near him made her feel somewhat exposed. This reminds her of her current outfit, the red bikini; and suddenly, there she was, a weak female human, standing before a bronzed and sculptured warrior. Confidence went out the window, and she felt the blood drain from her face, she was sure she looked as white as death.

"What?" He didn't have to shout; if anything, it came out as a gruff whisper, one that resonated deep within his chest. But for the life of her, she couldn't help but succumb to the sudden realization of her inferiority; sure, he was an ass. But he's strong, and he's a killer; piss him off, and you could end up dead. Fuck. She was somewhat drunk and high; her cognitive faculties were impaired, and she was sure that no matter what, her fate was sealed the moment she decided that it would be a good idea to invite a killer into her home.

"What do you want, woman?" he sounded annoyed this time as he voiced his question; he did not feel like being harassed by this googly eyed female. Not after a fruitless day of training; and after having to need stitches, all because of shrapnel; his mood was foul, and to add to the turmoil, the object of his secret envy would not leave him alone. The second he finished voicing that particular thought, he was suddenly reminded of how he had kissed her; it felt like an out of body experience, but he could still remember how she tasted, how she felt. Sometimes, you do the damnedest things without thinking twice, and he couldn't help but consider the possibility of how he could be descending into madness instead of ascending into the Legendary. The woman was a distraction, and it was more than frustrating that he was dependent upon her charity in order to achieve his ultimate goal. Self loathing settled in the pit of his stomach like stone.

For the longest time, they stood there; only he maintained his sharp gaze. She, on the other hand, fidgeted for a while before speaking up.

"You kissed me," she said bluntly. She wasn't sure what else to say, and she was sure that the prince was in no mood for small talk, so why beat around the bush? Vegeta never fussed with finesse when addressing her, so why should she?

"What of it?" he retorted. She blinked a few times in disbelief, gasping for words, but try as she might, no words would come. How blasé of him; her blood boiled, and she recognized the moment as one of those 'losing a nut' moment. Too drunk to care about the consequences, her anger and vigour returned, and she fought back.

"Well, I – what the hell was all that about?"

"Why are you really here, Bulma?" The fact that he spoke her name felt surreal; he never called her by her name before. On the rare occasion that he did address her, he would refer to her as 'woman' or 'human'. The sound of her name rolling off his lips shifted her focus; her hormones took over. She was like a sex starved teen, seeking out the bad and dangerous boys to play around with. What remaining sanity reminded her that she had just gotten out of an abusive relationship had long gone, and she was too taken in with the sexual tension that was in the air. "Are you looking for a good fuck? You seem desperate enough if you're knocking at my door."

She couldn't help but notice how self-depreciating he sounded. "You kissed me. Do you have any idea how tortured I've been, sleeping at night, twisting and turning, thinking about you?" She could hardly believe her ears; pouring her heart out to a monster. The monster stared back, unflinchingly, as silence enveloped them both.

Though his face betrayed nothing, his thoughts were a mess; he knew what he was, and he knew that he was more than lucky to have been sheltered by the generous weakling human. He didn't have much to his name other than his tattered pride; sure, he kept reminding her of his royal heritage, but even to his ears, it sounded like a lie. He was the last of his kind; the last son of the house of Vegetasei, and he had grown up under the rule of a tyrant, forced to kill, torture, maim, destroy... he could still remember the slick feeling of blood on his hands, and no matter how many times he cleaned them, they would always remain. His touch would taint this beautiful woman, and he hated himself for succumbing to the temptation of wanting to touch the blue haired angel.

That fateful day when she repaired the GR, he couldn't help but notice her. She smelled the way angels ought to smell; along with her ethereal scent, he could smell the anxiety that haunted her. It was very out of character of him to suddenly feel like wanting to protect her; she looked fragile and slender, and his blood boiled thinking about if any man had ever hurt her. 'This might be my chance of redeeming myself,' the voice in his head whispered. But pride and fear held him back; he would not give into her again, not now, when the demons of dejection and failure loomed over him like a ghost that refused to be purged.

But he didn't have to give in; it was her who made the first move. Like in slow motion, he could see her move towards him hesitantly, her face closing into his as she tip toed to kiss him on the lips; he didn't move for fear of breaking the reverie of the moment, as though he might wake up from a dream and that this was all some cruel trick in his head. As much as he doubted what was happening, he could smell the alcohol on her breath, the soft and moist pressure from her lips onto his, her cold hands slowly touching his arm. This little creature, weak as she is, trusted him not to hurt her; this was a first, though she herself may not know it. A lifetime spent in a world where there is only pain, you tend to distrust everyone, and you tend to feel like everyone is about to get you. This was new to Vegeta, and for once, he felt like he was on _terra incognita_.

Red was her colour, she knew it. She felt like she was a temptress queen, even after the cold snubs that he had given her. Red is the colour of blood; blood gives life, and life cannot be sustained without love. And love is what this man needs; she suffered no delusions of this being another fairy tale romance like those silly Disney films where the prince and princess live happily ever after. Happily ever after was not a word that she would associate with this man, but none the less, she felt like she wanted to, needed to, give herself to him, to show that she trusted him. Does he know what it's like to trust someone? She doubted that. It was mad, suicidal, even, to trust this monster, one part of her screamed. But she was beyond caring; the world might be coming to an end, and for once, she wanted to show someone the kind of love for another being that she had always craved but never managed to capture for herself, even if that someone turned out to be the egomaniacal murderer alien with a trigger happy temper.

He yanked her into the room and slammed the door behind her. Firmly gripping her shoulders, he shoved her against the door, staring her down with all the bewilderment and rage he could muster. "You're being foolish, woman. Do you know what I am capable of doing to you?" To emphasize the point, he squeezed her arms hard, drawing a sharp gasp.

She stared into his eyes, showing no fear. "I know." They held their gaze for the longest of time before he spoke again.

"I could tear you into shreds, woman. I could break your bones, pull you apart limb from limb with barely any effort." Taking advantage of their close proximity, he lowered his gaze appreciatively to admire her slender curves. She seemed somewhat starved, honestly; he could see bones protruding by her hips, her collar, her cheeks... it was as though to emphasize how delicate she was. Her breasts were small and humble; in the vibrant red bikini top, she looked sinfully luscious, what with her vulnerable energy and feminine glory barely concealed from his raving gaze. Skinny though she was, her hips flared beautifully outwards as he shifted his attention lower down her body; her waist was small, and the curve on her sides were bowed perfectly in a dick-stiffening arch.

She didn't flinch; and yet, somehow, though he felt like ravishing her, the anger that poisoned him all this while made him want to hurt her, just enough to let her know that he could feel too, though all he knew of was rage and blackness. Being alone with her brought out an animal from deep within; he acted purely on instincts while keenly watching her for any and all reactions.

Before she knew it, his hand gripped her throat, barely enough to cut off her air supply. It felt small and fragile in his hands; images of the battlefield flashed through his mind, and he remembered that it was the same excitement that he felt just before landing a killing hit. He felt powerful. She stiffened a little, but maintained her gaze onto his; all this while, that look she had from the beginning never diminished. Heavy lidded, cherry lips parted, chest rising and falling with each excited breath... it was beautiful. SHE was beautiful.

Instincts told him to stay his hand, though the guarded animal in him dared not to relinquish his hold over her. He stared down into her eyes, tilting her face upwards; the other hand greedily felt her up. Grabbing a generous amount of flesh as his hands skimmed down her hips, he squeezed, eliciting a surprised gasp from his captive. His hands kept roaming, and he basked in the sensations that she evoked upon him. From the quickening of his heartbeat, to the flooding of warmth that slowly seeped through his veins... it was intoxicating. His stubborn pride refused to accept that he was not acting like an animal in heat, though he could not, for the life of him, resist; it felt like daring to reach into a trap for the prized lure... only this time, there was no nasty surprise. He kept expecting something that he wasn't prepared for, something that he knew would destroy him... but nothing came. There was no pain, no suffering. Despite his hold on her, he felt a certain vulnerability; and being vulnerable was something the proud warrior was not accustomed to.

Conflicted with these emotions while grappling with the attraction, he proceeded cautiously. With his right hand, he tilted her head so that her neck was exposed to him; she was so small, compared to him. Her skin was soft and smooth, and he was aware of it every time he breathed in; she filled his lungs, and soon, he could feel her as though she was under his skin. Without much thought, he brought his mouth down to taste her; she wriggled and gasped beneath his firm grip, and the more he sucked, kissed, grazed, the more she bucked and moaned. She felt like rain, scouring his soul, his hands clean of all the bloodshed.

He did all he could to take her in; the way her skin smelled, how soft she felt beneath his lips, how she tasted in his mouth, the noises she make – he was so engrossed in his newfound fixation, he didn't realize until she pulled at his hair that he might be hurting her. A quick glance showed red marks where he ravaged her with his mouth. Not willing to relinquish an ounce of control, he grabbed her hand and pinned it above her head; he grabbed the other hand and pinned it there with one hand. Her breasts pointed out at him deliciously, almost spilling out of the tiny bikini top; he took the opportunity of kneeing her legs apart to press up against her, to let her know her effects on him. Lips crashed, and they were soon lost in freefall; all that mattered was how she tasted in his mouth, and how heady her scent smelled.

Absolutely intoxicating; that was all that he managed to think of, as he ripped her 'clothing' away; he wanted to see more of her, and his greedy hands wanted to feel every inch of her.

"Please..." he heard her whisper.

Faster than the eye could see, he tossed her on the bed, and was soon above her, spreading her legs open obscenely with one elbow hooked behind her knee before roughly nudging into her. There was no pretence of gentility; he devoured all that her body had to offer, like starving men were to feast upon encountering a free banquet. She gasped, wailed seductively like a siren; face flushed, breasts bouncing... she was an enigma, and now, she lay bare before him, willingly submitting to his will. He had one of her hands pinned above her head, still distrusting the woman, despite her being smaller and weaker than him; it was the same feeling he had when Freiza was still in his life, where the cage would fall down on him when he least expected it.

_SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP,_ was all that echoed in her ear. He looked down at her while mercilessly ploughing into her, and she could see that he looked almost feral; God, was she a sucker for bad boys or what? Her damp hair clung to her face and shoulder; her body felt like it was on fire, and it felt like the entire world was spinning. A burst of intense pleasure hit her with such intensity, she arched off the bed, howling; he had to hold her hips down because she thrashed around so much, the pillows were falling off and the sheets were coming loose.

All that she could think of was how selfless she felt at the moment. She could care less about her pain; surely, his life compared to hers was much more horrifying. She could almost see it in his eyes; it was as though she could tell what he was feeling without him having to vocalize it. The more she looked at him, the more she felt sorrow for him; 'this man is a good man; just that life has been such a bitch,' she thought as she felt him crash onto her, convulsing as his monumental release washed over her.

End Chapter 4

_Women are suffering machines_ – Pablo Picasso

Sorry for the errors; I am too tired to proofread. Read and please review, or I will not be motivated to finish this. XD


	5. Exorcise The Demons From Your Past

**Chapter 5 – Exorcise The Demons From Your Past **_by Iamparadoxia_

Again and again, he pounded and pummelled with all his might, shattering the training bots ; he felt disgraced at his lack of self control when faced with the temptation of her body, and to make matters worse, he found himself reliving the moment, rushing his blood south. To distract himself, he spent the entire day in the GR, pushing himself to the limit until every muscle was at the verge of tearing.

Sweet misery, he thought to himself; it was all he deserved, nothing more. Not this monster; no, not this murderer, destroyer of planets, harbinger of death... All he saw in his mind was Frieza's laughing visage, the same face that haunted his dreams, the one present when he saw his home planet ravaged. The face that laughed cruelly as hands ripped King Vegeta's heart out through the royal insignia on the king's armor. There was so much blood, it looked as though the growing red puddle would keep on growing as it engulfing all that was left of his childhood memories.

A moment's distraction was all it took; the last droid fired a shot off, catching him off guard, hitting him in the face. The same wound that had brought him out of the GR and into the temptress's sight opened up again, and once more, blood flowed freely. With an angry roar, he kicked the droid down; the brutal force tore the robot in half, its mechanical entrails scattering, reminiscent of how viscera would violently burst away from open body cavities when he dealt a killing blow.

Falling to his knees, he sat there motionless. He touched his face, and saw that his hand was covered in blood. He stared at it, the echos of past battles ringing in his head. With the same hand, he had touched the onna; on more than one occasion did he want to hurt her, let her know how much he was hurting inside, but a glance at her face stayed his hands. She _trusted_ him.

No one's ever trusted him before. But she did; even when he had his hand around her neck. The same hands now covered in blood as it was many times before. What freaked him out even more was that he held her head gently once on the fateful day that they shared a tender kiss; surely, it couldn't have been him, he thought. But he could remember vividly how she felt beneath him, willingly opening up to him as he used her. He _used_ her.

Not only was he a failure, he was a loser, now, too. Nausea rose up in his chest, and he began feeling light-headed. He had become a man without honour as well as being a failure. He stood up and wandered out of the chamber, ending up under a big tree in the courtyard. At that particular moment, when he felt like he couldn't possibly feel any worse, a certain blue haired angel crossed his path.

A day out was what she thought she needed; a day out alone in town at the art gallery, her favourite restaurant, or perhaps in the park where she could chill out and enjoy what little time she had before the androids came. To forget how cold Vegeta seemed after the sultry booze fuelled episode that ended with her sneaking back to her room wearing nothing but a towel.

She was all dressed up, wearing her favourite sun dress when she opened the front door to find Yamcha's sorry ass parked up front, ready to charm her with his rogueish smile. Only this time, instead of falling into bed together as they would have many times before, they ended up in a screaming match, with Yamcha playing the martyr card. As usual, he made her feel bad that she was privileged.

"Poor little rich bitch, what does she know about suffering? You're a spoiled bitch, Bulma, and you know it!" Yamcha was foaming at the mouth at this point; how dare she refuse him? 'Who does she think she is,' a venomous voice whispered in his ear. As far as he was concerned, she was HIS.

"You don't fucking own me, Yamcha! You never have, you never will! You broke, drunken creep!" The door slammed hard and he tried to stop her by pinning his body weight onto the door, eventually winning the fight for entry. She had managed to get as far as the luxurious garden by the time he chased her down; she had lost a heel, and was currently struggling to run away from him as fast as she can.

The yellow of her sundress was now smeared with mud and grass stains; she ran as far into the hedge maze that was always a hit with the guests at a gala dinner; she remember having used to play hide and seek in the maze as a little girl. The idea that she was now playing hide and seek to escape her abusive drunken ex's violent touch made her stomach churn; now this place is tainted with this memory, this fear, this terror, the panic of running away for your personal safety... from someone you thought you once loved. She could hear him looking for her; he cursed her name and told her of how pathetic and useless she really was, how her life had no meaning, all things that you know aren't true he somehow makes her believe by power of sheer intimidation.

She was sobbing as she ran aimlessly through the winding bowels of the puzzle, not knowing when he might spring from a corner and take her roughly as he did before, angry, determined to break her in two, emotionally, physically, sexually. She hid at the edge of a corner, eyes peeking, straining for any signs of movement. For a minute there, she thought she lost him, and she dared not to move. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, just when she thought she was safe, angry hands came through the hedge greenery, grabbing at her, snagging her clothes and trying to pull her through the tangle of now-destroyed precious privet trees, of which her mother would be very angry, should she ever learn of the ruination of her garden plants.

A gaping hole in the maze wall hedge and muffled shrieks that peeled like bells in the night was all that remained when her assailant dragged her out; the royal extra terrestrial enigma of a being had been tailing the heiress ever since his senses keened onto the distressing ripple in her chi; he could feel her distress and fear, and before he could even think of it, he shadowed that pathetic wretch Yamcha who reeked of cheap alcohol. His annoyance and intolerance of the desert bandit was now ten folds; not only was this idiot creating emotional havoc for his already distressed hostess whom he happened to feel possessive over, his weakness as a warrior was what made him loathe the man intensely.

He suffered no delusions that he was a knight prince in shining armour; the remains of his battle clothes from what seemed to be from another life years ago was at the bottom of the sliding closet, in pieces and covered in dark red and black stains. Fire reined in his veins, and he could feel his blood coarse through his being. Even if he did save her from Yamcha, he knew in his heart that it will never make up for the fact that he allowed himself to touch her, to suckle from her lips and to fuck her as she laid there on his bed, docile and trusting of the violent criminal currently defiling her body with his bloodied hands... he can still remember how open she looked, how apprehensive her eyes looked, as though she had already given up. He longed to see her be glorious as she was before, when that idiot was dead and he had time to know her back on Planet Namek, where they played cat and mouse whilst their lives hung in the balance.

Now that he knew the reason for this beautiful flower's slow decay, he felt driven to cause the agent of her torment great physical pain, as though to pay tribute to the blue angel who was benevolent enough to show the likes of him a moment of tenderness. Silently, he stalked the intruder, advanced combat training and super human senses allowing him the clear upper hand.

For a while, there seemed to be no sight of him, despite the obvious fluctuation in chi; there was no confirmed visual sighting. It was then that he saw her, fearfully crawling in the dark, her beautiful dress torn and muddied; a sad vision that clenched at his heart, seeing her looking like a butterfly that survived the hurricane... he observed from the dark how she kept low, trying to keep calm whilst figuring a way out of the intricate maze in total darkness; the garden lights strewn amongst the branches of the maze trees were off, and the moon was hidden behind thick clouds; he knew she didn't have a chance to defend herself should he decide to ravish her right there and then. His treacherous mind wandered to the night previous, where she bared herself to him body and soul, how her face was red, lips puffy from his aggressive sampling of her skin.

He was far into the memory of that heavenly night when suddenly, that good for nothing Yamcha grabbed her from behind the hedge; her startled scream echoed in the dark, and immediately, his senses went into overdrive. Soundlessly he pursued his enemy, the intruder whose hands were currently around that slender neck of hers, dotted with red marks made by the very lips that curled back in a feral snarl.

"You cheating little cunt, who else have you been fucking?" he snarled as he tightened his grip; breath choked out of her, and she started to thrash. "You're mine, you slut, do you hear me?" The warning came out in a deep, angry growl, one that would chill any prey's blood. "You worthless piece of dead cunt meat," he said, laughing.

Before the price could rescue the damsel in distress, before he could blink, even, she kneed him in the balls. Keeling over, Yamcha coughed and howled, his crown jewels smashed against a bony knee; she looked so frail, it amazed him that she was able to give the creep one decent crippling blow. Even if it meant provoking him into slugging her in the face, giving her a black right eye; it was this that prompted Vegeta to step in, grab the son of a bitch by the arm and twist it as hard as he can. The snap broken bones came home with a hollow echo as the first rains started to fall, succeeded by the bandit's pained screams. It was only then that the security personnel found them, flashlights and dogs barking, a sound that took him by surprise when he heard it for the first time. He didn't pick up on their scent or movement; it was as though he had zoned in on the task of eliminating the threat currently hurting a woman. A woman whom he owed the debt of sheltering him and taking him in, putting up with his wonderful, warm as a rock in the ice tundra personality with flair and resentment, one that seemed to fuel the tension between them.

They brought her in, laid her gently in her bed, the security team dealing with the police and Yamcha; after giving his statement to the officer of the law and ensuring that Bulma will be alright, as well as reluctantly agreeing for a paramedic to sew his wounded brow shut properly, Vegeta receded back into the shadows of his gravity room, where he would proceed to punish himself for his weakness that has tainted the beautiful onna by training strenuously in simulated 250 times gravity.

The training session lasted 4 gruelling hours; his body felt battered and drained, and though he was exhausted and would love nothing more than to fall face down into a fluffy down pillow as he practically blacked out after unwinding in a steamy hot shower, he felt a niggling that pointed towards the balcony of her room; her glass doors were open, and the chambermaids were attending to her every need. He waited for an hour or two more before they had made sure that Bulma was safe and sound and rested before ascending like a thief into her bedroom, watching over her as she lain asleep. Even as he waited, he could smell the scent of clean soap and warm water in the air, wafting from her private bathroom as she cleaned up from the evening's theatrics. He knew which kind of soap it was that she used; it was the soap that seemed to be in every bathroom on the compound; Mrs Brief's favourite brand of soap, organic soy soap scented with benzoine, a desert tree that produced aromatic embers. The fragrance reminded him of his visit to a desert on the outskirts of his father's kingdom in the east, he remember playing in the dunes, the smell of resinous bark thick in the air. Had he inherited the kingdom, it was a sight he would have loved to share with Bulma; he would ensure that she was his Queen, and that she will not be denied anything she could have ever hoped for.

The sense of despair falls back and brings him crashing down as soon as he remembers how he has yet to achieve the status of the Legendary, the super Saiyan. The fact that that third class low ranking soldier managed to surpass him shattered a great deal if his already wounded ego.

Her pale, anaemic skin was in stark contrast with the angry purplish red bruise that swelled her eye shut. She was too beautiful to deserve this; his fists clenched, wishing that he had acted sooner so that he might have prevented her from being hurt.

She had been silent since they brought her in, and she kept it throughout the night. She told the security team not to inform her parents; the last thing she needed was to be fussed over by a ditzy mother. Though she knew that they meant well, she couldn't tolerate it if they came home to make her feel any more like a child. No, just increase the security sweeps and make sure every security personnel knew that Yamcha was restricted from the property, and to bring her her pills along with a cup of warm milk with honey, along with her smoke pipe, thank you very much.

Exhausted, she set her mind on going to sleep...

...only to wake up screaming and sobbing after a vivid dream of how Yamcha had violated her a long time ago, when they were just beginning to get intimate. When push came to shove, the next thing she knew was that she felt her flesh tear and bruise as he held her down and took her body and made it his fuck toy; the memory of that evening where he defiled her with his abusive touch shook her to her core and when she was back in the waking world, she was sobbing uncontrollably; they had to bring the doctor in to sedate her.

End chapter 5

Please leave a review, I'll try to write more, but it's a slow and arduous process.

DOX


	6. I'll Make YOU Feel Pure

**Chapter 6 – I'll Make You Feel Pure **_by IAmParadoxia_

The doctors ordered her to take the month off; faced with the prospect of how the old fart threatened to call her parents if she disobeyed, she gladly took the time off. What the hell, the world might be ending soon, what with the battles promised, a tale regaled by the boy from the future which seemed to be too absurd to be true, but alas, life enjoys doling out nasty surprises... why shouldn't she be able to die with at least feeling somewhat at peace?

The stabbing sensation in between her legs came and went, like nightmares that cross the threshold into the waking world solely to torment her even more... memories as dark as the one that woke her up in a fit, drenched in cold sweat and reaching for the Xanax flashed by in her mind. Damn him for having done this to her. Damn him and his self-depreciating bullshit that spilled over into the violence he directed at her; all she ever wanted to do was to love and be loved. Is that too much to ask for?

The doctor also told her that she needed to eat better food, start taking care of herself; the fainting spells were getting worse, and were happening more frequently. She had quit her 'herbal cigarettes', started drinking herbal tea instead, and begun to force herself to eat a selection of better foods; a glass of milk and dandelion honey, warmed up just nicely tucked in her hands in the very artistic souvenir cup her parents sent from Japan during one of their trips, the seasons passing with neither Vegeta nor Bulma breaking radio silence for what seemed forever...

She was smoking in the kitchen, watching the clouds loomed over the yard; Bunny called this morning to say that she and Professor had just caught a steal in the real estate market in this small European island that's a real fixer upper; they'll be travelling around Europe selecting art decor and skilled carpenters in the region to breathe life back into the old beauty... the photos sent looked more like a crumbling castle choked by invasive climbing weeds. More time to herself, thank God, she exhaled, sitting on the very same deck chair where the wounded soldier wandered out and she got to touch the man. She bit her lip, remembering how it felt, being that close to a body sculpted from steel, fire, stone, ice, and fuelled by the intensity of a raging storm that howled a bloodcurdling screech; raw power ebbed off of him, and she found herself rubbing her thighs together as she allowed her imagination extensive creative liberty.

What would he have looked like wearing a uniform? A police uniform, perhaps? Too sleek; it needed to be something that indicated skills, training, a keen eye... perhaps like that gorgeous blonde officer who came to her rescue that day she had a fainting spell at the parking lot near the organic food store. He wore a well-tailored linen Air Force uniform, his colourful collection of medals and badges catching her eye; it was the first thing she noticed when she woke up on the asphalt, the rain drizzling into her face, the handsome stranger bent over, concerned for her well being... all she could focus on then was how masculine his presence was, and how she felt desirable and wanton as well as helpless. It didn't take faking; her suffering health provided for the theatrics, the dizziness, the unintentional slumping into his chest, sampling his musk whilst the young officer brought her to her car.

If only it were Vegeta who caught her when she fainted; she remembered how aware she was of her wet clothes, how her dress seemed see through, how glaringly obvious her red undergarments seemed from under the wet cotton. She feigned innocence easily enough, while he tended to her, sending for help, calling the ambulance service... more often than once did she catch him staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She couldn't but help but wonder if Vegeta were like that as well; sly, sleek, smooth talking...

The memory of that autumn evening made her smile as she took another sip of her nourishing drink; it tasted sweet, floral and wild from the dandelion, and rich enough to fuel her energy requirements for a few hours. She even had her headphones attached to an all-in-one palm-sized gadget, her favourite music keeping her company as she admired the garden for the first time in a long time. The maids had prepared her a breakfast light enough for her rebellious appetite to cope with; one pan fried lamb sausage, 5 sticks of blanched green beans, and leftover turkey gravy from the dinner the night's before to sweeten the deal. The house attendants know to cook everything in super size; the unusual guest has been known to be very cranky to staff when he is deprived of sustenance; they've all learned to tolerate the abuse, they needed the job. It was too handsome a job to abandon, simply put; the pay alone was more than generous.

Just as she had finished breakfast, she attended to the local news gazette, and the front page screamed a head title that made her blood run cold; the blonde haired man on the front page, a budding soldier on the frontlines of war, struck down when he was stabbed by his current fiancé's jealous ex boyfriend. The same handsome face that tended to her as she remained on the wet asphalt, wishing that the screen would go black, only to let curiosity win over when she saw his piercing green eyes.

The cigarette was on her lips long before she could even think of denying herself her nicotine fix; it had become such an auto reflex, and before she could light it, fast as lightening, he was up close and in the flesh, grabbing the smoke away from her before she could set fire to it.

"You really shouldn't," grumbled the grumpy alien; it was the first time in weeks that he had spoken but a word to her, and the sudden grating of his voice in her spine made her jump, in a twisted sort of pleasant way. Her keen nose smelled the musk off his warm skin as it filled the air between them; they were within close proximity, the kitchen was warm, and the smell of dinner and firewood and blood was in the air.

"Lovely perfume you're wearing, my prince," she chimed casually, without really thinking about it first. He was fresh out the shower, toasty dry, and thanks to her ditzy mother's obsession with high end household products, even the guest rooms were stocked with every month's latest products. In spring, the house smelled like roses, geraniums, and the colognes will reflect the floral breeze; in summer, citrus and a hint of mint. Autumn brings earthy tones, like cinnamon, cloves and anise seed, all very well for warming the blood up as the days grow shorter. This winter, the theme was cocoa, coffee, cinnamon, cardamoms and surprisingly, toasted coconuts; the smell of coconuts on Vegeta's skin brought a flooding of fresh saliva in her mouth, and she smacked her lips, pretending not to notice anything... as keen eyes watched her every move.

"Your mother keeps stocking on these luxurious bath items; only fitting, since you are honoured with my royal presence," he nonchalantly replied, to which she did not respond to, as she used to do on Namek, fiery in her temperament, passionate in her argument, alive as lively gets. No; this time, she barely cracked a smile before returning to her reading.

It wasn't like the prince to be furious at such a thing; usually, they would end up in a heated debate, and though he confessed the wickedness of his obtuse sort of humour, he simply couldn't help but draw her out like one would a scared animal with food. Or in cat's case, a playful treat. He didn't understand the pangs he felt when she inadvertently gave him the cold shoulder.

After a bout of silence, just when he was sure that she wasn't going to say anything at all, she said "I wish they would just kill me now. Those androids; destroy it all with the snap of a finger, and then maybe we can have peace."

He went about putting a plate for breakfast together; there was his buffet of breakfast beef, cured fowl breast, fancy bacon, and the sort; he confessed that he enjoyed being spoiled this way; at times he felt like he didn't deserve even a scrap of it, but to know that there was someone out there who would take him in and shelter him... it made the wait and the training for ascension a bit more bearable.

To see her broken down and frail made him feel uneasy; she looked as though she had already given up, as her face sunk in and paled with each passing season and her fire slowly dimmed, her skin as pale as ash. And there was also the look in her eye; resigned to fate, uncaring with the remainder of what short time they have left... it rippled through his body and soul like an electric jolt, and before he knew it, he was holding her by her arms, staring a smouldering look into her eyes, whirlpools of blue ashened eyes. It was a test, at first; that kiss, that hesitant, darting of his eyes between her mouth and eyes, the sudden first touching of the lips that sent that bold he had pent up behind his chest into her, so to speak, her lips slowly responding...

It wasn't long before the heavy petting started; at first his hands moved from her arm down to her elbows, so delicate, his stomach a slithering pit of snakes at the thought of how easily he could have torn her small and helpless hand and arm from her shoulders; he knew with great awareness that inside, she was just like everybody else; flesh and blood. Breathing in, he focused on the fact that this woman was a living being, a person whose soul seemed to glow in the dark amidst the darkness once upon a time, but has slowly diminished. She had a name, and her name was-

"Bulma" he uttered thoughtlessly. The instant he said her name was when her eyes came back to life, as though the fire in her soul is slowly being rekindled. She had soul piercing eyes, and she stared into him unintendedly...

Before they knew it, they were tounging one another with abandon; they were cautiously slow at first, but as they continued with the sinuous dance, they continued to feed off one another's emboldment, hands wandering, clutching, squeezing...

(told from Bulma's point of view...)

You could tell by the way he squeezes my ass cheeks with both hands on either side that he works out; all the displaced blood as a result of the squeezing and the grinding brought a sultry heat creeping between my legs, begging to be tended to... it's hard enough to breathe when you're kissing someone; but when you're lips on with the almighty Prince of all Saiyans whose body felt so warm and heated, firmly pressed up against my delicate curves and bumps.

Our lips part and we're both glazed over with pure, unadulterated lust that's just begging to be set free. I could die just then and there, pressed against the dark oak counters, legs parted, raw male muscle and vein, hands and cock, eyes and mouth, primed for the killing blow... just thinking of how many he's killed, what's he's capable of and so on. Being helplessly human and sickly, I am unable to resist him; I feel the river flow as though a dam had blown open deep inside me, that part of my soul that I had cast in concrete, slowly coming back to life.

His grating hips and stiffening bulge draw my attention, but when I look up at his face, he looks hesitant, despite the body's betraying movements. Recognizing this fight within him, for pride and for honour, I cast my tattered pride to the winds first and spoke gently into his ear.

I wrapped my legs around him, grabbed him by the collar and went in for a deep kiss; it felt like diving in warm, luxurious water that you can breathe in. His energy crept over my skin, and I felt like I could do anything in the world with this man by my side. Or, at the present moment, inside; inside me, like before, that time in his quarters, where I was spread eagle, gloriously naked, witnessing as he bowed my body and held my head as he plundered my hive... that concentrated look on his face, like a man off the leash, hungrily grinding his hips...

Smelling him in close proximity and getting to taste him again and to actually share a tender moment, I felt a surge of doubt, like before, how men seem to take advantage of it. But this one was above all that; his strong hands touch my skin tenderly, firmly, warmly, I felt myself opening up like a flower in the sun after a long winter's wait. Deciding to end his torment of ego versus lust, I licked his lips and gave him a deep kiss, remembering that time we fucked like animals, hoping to Gods that he recognizes this want that I've been carrying around for a long time and fuck me to withing an inch of my life, if only to make me feel alive again for one more night.

It took a minute of soft caresses up his neck and shoulders as well as necking him in a way that reminded me of teenage sluts back in high school; the ones openly making out with their boyfriend in open air on school ground. Now, I got to play that role, aware that any minute now, a maid could come by to do their routine chores...

Before long, we were sneaking off to an empty guest room, locking the doors, tearing each other's clothes off, grabbing at one another in a mindless sexual frenzy. He held my legs apart the way he did the first time, but instead of getting straight to the point of it, he decided to stretch things agonizingly long. Well, it felt drawn out; I was impatient to have in me again, and his calm visage tells me that I need to relax.

He kisses the inside of my thighs, and I swear, I felt like bolts of molten, liquid heat sliding down into me. I can feel the damp heat building up, my body no longer under my own control, as he kissed and sucked almost every part of me. My breasts, my waist, my back, my neck and shoulders... it felt like forever that he teased my skin with his delicate kisses and stubbled jaw before he touched me where I sorely needed to be touched.

It was as though the whole of me had just lost power; the second he put his hands on my clit, my knees limped, my torso stiffened, my hands and elbows jellied out, his strong hands holding me to his firm chest as he fondles me while raining kisses at the base of my nape and ear.

There happened to be a vanity mirror facing our way, and the prince in him, I guess, feeling vain, decided to take the show to the edge of the bed, facing the ornamental mirror I remembered purchasing in Venice, the days when I travelled through Europe 'in search of herself.' The pewter frame was simple save for the magnificent silver vein that held it up. Seeing myself in such a compromising position, wantonly open, weeping at both ends, held down by pure muscle and power, I couldn't help but twitch with excitement. I happened to be wearing a floral skirt with a warm sweater, which is now on the floor, followed by my kitsch leopard tank top. Everything fell to the floor as he gently, deliberately took pleasure in undressing me, letting his eye roam... he didn't try to hide it alright. When he shifted his vision from what his hand was doing between my legs to looking up into the mirror; for a brief our eyes met.

I could have died right then and there, happy as a sailor off to sea when our eyes locked; it was electric, to say the least, and I swear, the aching heat felt a tad more unbearable. I kept grinding my ass onto his crotch, more than happy to be used, but he took his sweet time; like this were a meal that was to be savoured with patience and great appreciation. The black lace knickers I wore slid down my hips as he pulled them down with one hand, and the slimy trail down my thighs made everything feel all too real.

This man is a killer, monster, a beast who kills with no mercy... and he is currently taking off the last piece of clothing that I happened to be wearing. His rough and calloused hands were a delight when they gently palmed my nipples; he was tender all the way, and the more I ground my hips onto his thighs, the more he gives me.

Before long, I was held hostage in front of the mirror, as I hear him lying behind me, our crotch up on reflection, joined lewdly and clearly, an image that will stay with me and keep me awake for many future nights, I'm sure. He took his sweet time stuffing me with his stiff cock, and by the time he got all of him in me, he held me by the waist and my arms behind my back, him holding onto them like he was taking the rein to his chariot.

The dance we danced, the things I witness in the mirror that night... I remember screaming and groaning, wanting MORE, MORE, MORE, MY PRINCE, being a prima donna spoiled slut when he took his cock away from my cunt and sung praises to him in delirious slut talk as he drilled me. He drilled me hard, and he drilled me well.

The next thing I remember is being back in my own bed, tucked in a warm cocoon, him holding me from behind, and it was daylight. I didn't want to spoil the moment, so I took my time, enjoying having his arms around me, his warmth soothing me, our skin hot and sticky and sweet and salty all at once, it was magnificent. I remember falling into a deep and sleepless dream after that.

END

Not many good reviews you guys giving me... the generic praise and plz continue is not exactly confidence building or useful in any way. :0 I give you this, and you repay me with little to no reviews?! CRUEL!


	7. The Violence In Your Heart

**Undisclosed Desires** _chapter 7 by IAmParadoxia_

This happened again the next day. I was having a drink in the kitchen, and we ended up kissing, sneaking off; this time, into his bedroom. To be taken out of my zone of comfort and into his lair was a ridiculously erotic prospect that had me stumbling over my own bunny slippers. After the sliding doors, we stumbled into the hallway and stole a kiss, feeling as though time was fleeting, we're running, and the finishing promises plenty of reward, towards which we are running. Hands wandered, and he hauled me over shoulder, opened the door to his room and walked in. The next few hours of that morning was spent under the covers, skin on skin, mouth on heated flesh, with leaking sexual fluids staining the fine cotton sheets.

I awoke late noon to his hands groping me under the sheets; his rough, warm and calloused hands skimmed my belly, the underside of my breasts, between and around my thighs, uncaring if I were awake or asleep; he was enjoying my body with his hands, and when I do stir awake, he nips at my neck and whispers to me...

"Good morning, mademoiselle..."he crooned. I arched my brow and wondered where he learned how to speak French; but before I could speak, he responded as though he caught wind of the question on my mind and proceeded by saying "your films collection is impressively vast; particularly the foreign films section. I sometimes sneak a few films when I can't sleep."

Of course; people would be having sleeping problems at this point in time, especially for those who knew of the advent androids who bring with them death and destruction, and I suppose even Saiyans are sometimes no exception to the rule.

These aliens, they're uncanny, I tell you; their learning abilities are astounding, to say the least. They learn languages quickly, their memory severely accurate, it was unnerving to know. Especially when you're an instrument of pleasure, and he's rocking you like a saxophone, or electric guitar; every touch elicits a noise that rings in the cool morning air, music that makes him rock his hips against mine, pressing all the right buttons and reaching all the secret places that make me shudder and writhe, a concerto that ends with fireworks and heart wrenching crescendo when the climax of the piece washes through. We were in his quarter which was housed in its own complex, adjoined with a hangar that housed his precious GR machine; a building in the midst of the other hangars that stored various equipment and prototypes of all kinds. He didn't mind that my screaming and moaning echoed off the walls; he seemed to enjoy it, if anything. There was a smile in his eyes, just as I cried when his pleasurable assault on me ended with a wave of bliss, washing me head to toe, and I feel like I'm on fire for a moment before realizing how warm my cheeks felt against my cooler fingertips. After snuggling into the sheets with his arms around me, sleep claimed me; mostly, it was peaceful and calm. Secure, even.

Sunlight rained in through the open blinds, and the central heater is on minimum to conserve energy; an oddly precautious step, considering our 'imminent demise.' But taking more than you needed in terms of fuel resources was a sin that I just couldn't bear. And really, at the moment, I was plenty warm; the strong body of molten muscle was keeping me toasty warm under the tick duvets.

"Good morning, my prince." I know it's blatantly a stroke to his ego, but calling him that thrills me somehow; like all this death, danger, sex and violence that's been in the air, and how it taints every moment with that anxiety and a sense of helplessness. But right now was the perfect place and time to be helpless; I cannot escape this bed if I wanted to. His highness enjoys in-bed treats, and I happen to always be on the menu, it seems. His possessive hands and calm, assertive raw energy keeping me warm and safe, come what may...

He's obviously feeling frisky this afternoon, because he grabbed my hips and pulled me towards him; I was still slick at the apex of my thighs, and the smell of sex and skin and sweat was making me feel awake, wanting more. So I turned around, climbed on top and decided that it was my turn to have the top spot.

I never thought I'd ever crave for seconds, thirds and more helpings of sweet love with this alien being, but there we were, spending long hours in his room, exploring each other, open, unclothed, bare and raw, every inch of skin kissed and caressed, every scar tenderly lathered with a tongue and lovingly smothered with kisses. He had more, of course, but he found mine more interesting, it seemed. The barely noticeable scars on my knees, from when I fell from my bike and skinned it on the asphalt of the roadside, the stitches I have on my forearm from that work accident that involved a broken glass panel... the very faint scar on my brow from where I received three stitches after Yamcha slugged me.

His thumb traced my cheek, and I can't help but melt into the moment, my limbs relaxed like I was a puddle of melted wax...

Time passed slowly, but all too fast, because as I recalled, that was more than a week ago that he touched me like that.

We recalled each other's scars, his too many to tell, one or two he explained with casual factuality, with an edged grind in his baritone voice, grumbling in his chest. He looked smug, relaxed, and I can't help but feel like I've died and gone to heaven. Every time I recall that evening, my toes curl, and I can't bear to leave my feet cold.

A few days after that last time he held me, Goku paid a visit; he came by to say hello, and to spar with Vegeta. He was cheerful as always, and somehow unaffected by android's advent. After he left, however, Vegeta turned sullen and quiet again, and he rarely showed his face around the house. The food still disappears, so he's definitely around.

I was beginning to worry, so on one fateful evening, I decided to check on him. I walked towards his quarters, relishing every step reminiscing of times spent behind closed doors with this mysterious being. I was already in the hallway at his door, about to knock when I heard a loud BANG that came from the GR area. Heading towards the source, I feel vibrations in the floor; when I reached the peep window, I peered inside.

He looked so angry, frustrated even; I can only imagine it's because of his failure to ascend into the Legendary form that he so coveted, and yet was earned with no effort at all by a lower class soldier. Three training robots lay scattered around the room, their electronic viscera mangled and torn beyond repair, by the looks of it. I was too distracted by the damage, thinking about the extra work I'll have to do to repair all this, when he opened the hatch and stepped through, muttering what sounds like curses under his breath.

He saw me, and rolled his eyes, his shoulders slumping, his posture that of a defeated man; such a contrast it was how he carried himself at that moment to what I've seen when we're rutting like animals. I felt like holding him, loving him, but that look he gave me as I took one step towards him scared me. It was as though his soul was black with hate, anger, roiling with frustration, and there's nothing he can do to relieve the tension.

We're all about to die anyway; if he kills me now, it'll be a small mercy. What the hell; I threw caution to the wind and continued moving towards him. I reached out, placed a hand on his shoulder – suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, twisted it behind my back and shoved me up against the wall.

"What do you want from me, wench?!" He sounded so angry, and he held me against the wall so forcefully, it hurt; I started to feel fear. For the first time, I was painfully aware of his strength; sure, it hurt when we were in the throes of it, but he was always careful. This was different; my arm feels like it might snap off, and my arm hurts where he's holding me. If Yamcha played rough, Vegeta was something else.

I never thought of Vegeta as someone who would hurt a woman, but I guess he's about to prove me wrong; his grip tightened, and I cried. "Vegeta, please, you're hurting me..."

Roughly, he turned me around and pinned me against the wall, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arm. It wasn't the pain that had my attention, though; it was the malevolent storm in his eyes and that snarl on his face that held me captive. What darkness fuels that storm, I wonder? My tears fall without me realizing, until I felt it drip down my chin and onto my chest.

**[Vegeta's POV]**

The damned bots aren't sentient, I know, but I can't help but curse that from now on they'll learn not to fuck with me. I know that the woman would lecture me about how much work it would take to replace all the broken parts. I'd rather not be here in closed space right now; opening the hatch, I step out, growling. I felt like destroying the next thing I laid my hands on; maybe one of those small islands that no one will miss. Not that it'll solve anything.

I smelled her before I saw her; there she was, on the left, peering into the port window of the GR. Perfect; just what I need at the moment. I love her, I hate her, I love how delectable her body is, and I am disgusted with myself for falling into temptation. She moves towards me, probably to 'comfort me'. My pride is unable to handle anymore of this humiliation; I'll show her just who I really am. I glare at her, and she pauses for but a moment before resuming towards me.

I pin her towards the wall, her arm behind her back. ...I want to see her eyes; so I turned her around to face me. I hold her tight, tighter than what I know is comfortable for her; need to let her know that I am not one with whom to trifle with. I am worthy of strength, dammit; it is my royal birthright! Her eyes are wide with fear, and I relish the thought that I am the one responsible for this. She says something, but I can't hear clearly; blood is rushing though my veins, and I can hear my pulse. She sheds a tear, and I follow its trail down to her chest. If only she knew how easily it would be for me to scoop her heart out of her chest; if only she knew that these hands are capable of making her life sheer misery. But that tear, the look on her face, the fear... I felt angry at myself.

She can't cry; she deserves more than this. She deserves more than a prince of a dead race with nothing at all to his name, not even the achievement of ascension. I feel sick to my stomach...

I let go of her arms, which show early signs of deep bruising, I'm shameful to say, and back away. Why would she even allow me in her home, into her bed, even?

"I can't be around you, Bulma. You make me feel weak; you make me feel vulnerable." It was all I said as I turned around and headed towards the hangar bay in the adjoining building. I'll take one of the space capsules with a fitted GR into space and train there; no distractions. Not even her.

She ran up behind me and hugged me as tight as she could manage; her strength felt so pitiful, I struggle not to think of how easily I could destroy her by tearing her flesh apart, limb from limb...

"Don't go. Please." It's like she read my mind.

My pride refused to allow me to feel anything; so I hardened my heart, turned myself into stone and shrugged her off. I can feel her energy wane; I didn't have to turn around to know that she was crying. If anything, I don't want to turn around; I know that if I look back at her, into those beautiful eyes, I'd change my mind immediately. No; it has to be this way.

I busied myself the next few hours and prepared the capsule for launch; by the time I had taken off, the sun had set. I have a couple of years to waste, and in this black empty vastness of space is where I choose to spend my time. As best as I could, I reminded myself of how it was the right thing, though deep inside, I know that she would not be happy with me.

Can't think of her right now; I have training to do. I crank up the gravity, and begun my warm up; thus began my long torturous journey of solitary training.

**End chapter 7**

Seriously, leave reviews. No 'I like, please continue!' crap. I am SO not motivated to write if you guys don't let me know what you think of this fic.


	8. Recognize Your Beauty

Undisclosed Desires chapter 8 by **IAmParadoxia **

My parents didn't stay away long once I broke the news of the new addition to the family; dad asked the questions and explained it to mum, saving me from having to deal with a ditzy soon-to-be-grandmother. They (or should I say, mum) redecorated one of the biggest of the spare rooms in the house into a nursery, and dad sipped coffee as he asked succinct questions. His eyes betrayed curiosity and burning questions, but knowing me, he didn't press too hard. That first night my parents came home was two weeks after Vegeta had left... and that was almost two years ago. Since then, they never left the house.

I spent the first three months of my pregnancy buried on work; I didn't want to have to think about this parasite growing inside me, how it's the seed of evil, spawn of a murderous alien whose pride is his first priority. The first ultrasound, which I had delayed until recently, shows the presence of a tail; it's a freak, an alien.

It's my baby. Sure, I hate the father for leaving me here, most likely unaware of what he left me with; but surely, I can raise this babe into a good person? For a moment, I dare to dream of a day when we'll be a family, when Vegeta realizes that it's ok to be vulnerable, because though he is a sinner, his innocence, his youth, his soul, it belongs to me. The only time that I've seen all of him without the rage is when we touch, when all pretence of arrogance and ego is shed with every piece of clothing that falls, with every kiss that sears...

Men; they would rather die than admit that they are capable of being tender. It's all about edge, strength, power... and us helpless chicks get to stand by and watch as they kill one another over God knows what it was that really started all this nonsense. I try not to feel so helpless, so I work on recreating a regen tank, like the ones on Freiza's ship. I'm just about complete, and with each hour pored over this project, perhaps whatever damage that occurs, whatever injury he might sustain, I could help heal them.

Work, work, work; that was the routine of my life. That was if I wasn't sick in bed with nausea; about half of my waking hours were spent nursing soothing tisane, with me in my big bed, tucked in warm covers, as I try not to hurl. The foreign thing growing in me, this child of mine, it's doing strange things to my body; my metabolism has increased significantly, and by the time the baby bump started showing, I was able to obliterate an entire litre of pistachio gelato. I gained a bit of baby weight, but it seemed that most of what I ate went to the baby.

Every night before I fall asleep, I wonder about Vegeta, about where he is, what he's doing... and if he spares even but a moment to think of me, as I often do of him. I feel foolish every time I do, and more often than not, I end up resenting the fact that I am carrying his child.

As time passes, I spent more time in bed; I passed it off to my parents that I was lethargic because of the unique pregnancy, but in truth, it was because I wasn't eating as well as I should have been. Pining for my prince has left me moody and sombre, and as a result, my appetite suffered.

Consequently, the baby came two months earlier than expected. I was up, staring out into the night, bathing in moonlight and poetic irony of how grand this balcony of mine seemed; considering how the Prince in this story seemed to actually be of royal lineage, and how dramatic these past events have been. Less than a year until the androids come, and yet the stars still shine in the dark sky, the moon still glows like an astral lantern, and all I wish for right now is for him to be right next to me, to forget about how death lurks ever so close with each passing day, and to touch me and warm me with his glorious presence...

Perhaps I should have told him that I found him to be as glorious as he did, but how do you tell someone something like this without sounding like a complete and utter fool?

The pain came from nowhere, and before I knew it, I was on my knees, my water breaking, evident by the forming pool of liquid on the pristine marble floor; thankfully, my handheld gadget was with me, and I was able to alert someone. I was whisked away into the infirmary, the doctor was summoned, my parents waited outside, giddy and anxious at the prospect of becoming grandparents... it was all too much for me. When the doctor arrived, I asked that I be put under immediately and that the baby be delivered by caesarean section; and that the tail be removed immediately after birth.

I know they say that birthing should be a wondrous occasion in every woman's life, but at the present moment, I chose not to be part of it; I chose to sleep through it. By the time I came to, the baby was tucked away in his cot next to my bed, the maid fussing over him.

"You're awake, miss." Marion, who has been working for us for longer than I can recall, approached me; "he's got lavender hair, just like his grandfather. And he's got your pretty eyes!"

I didn't know whether if it was a boy or a girl until just then. My mind raced; what would Vegeta say when he finds out that he has a son? Before my imagination took hold, Marion settled on the edge of my bed and spoke softly, "I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now, dearie." Sweet Marion, who always was the matronly figure without the ditz, was always a source of comfort to me since I was a child; whether if I were having a bad day at school, or if my assignments scored below what I had expected, she was always there to dispense some motherly wisdom.

She knows of how this child came to be, and she knows that our prickly house guest is the father. Of course she would know; the staffs maintains the grounds, and no doubt have they had to clean up after Vegeta and I after we've thoroughly fucked out brains out in every corner of whatever room we happened to stumble into.

"I'm sure you'll pull through it all, miss. You've always been one to tough things out." She then asked me whether if I wanted to hold him, and if I've figured out a name for the sweet babe. Wordlessly, I nodded; I couldn't escape facing the truth any longer, and what better place than being tucked in bed to have to deal with a life altering event. She got up and fetched the child, a small bundle wrapped in soft cotton blankets; I could see a chubby hand with chubby fingers, and when she placed him in my arms, when our eyes met, I fell completely in love.

My heart swelled, and unknowingly, tears began to fall.

Welcome to the world, Trunks Vegeta Brief.

**END CHAPTER 8**


	9. You Are The One

Undisclosed Desires **by IAmParadoxia**

**/ICANHASMOARREVIEWSPLZ/ICannotBeArsedBETAReading/**

I had an easy time recovering from the birth, as my mother took up the mantle of Grand motherhood with zeal; she had her circle of friends over, and little Trunks was always the centre of attention, especially dressed in adorable as well as fashionable baby wear. I, on the other hand, dove back into work whilst juggling Trunks around between myself, my mother and the nursemaid; I breast feed and sometimes bottle feed Trunks, so it was necessary for me to take a few breaks during my work day to feed him. I had quit my smoking habit and drinking ever since I found out of the pregnancy, so the stress can sometimes be overwhelming, but focusing on nursing this little thing that I helped create somehow soothes some of the pain.

Every time I feed him, I feel my heart warm up and soften up to him, and I struggle with feeling both dread and excitement at the prospect of introducing him to his father. I try not to imagine what it would be like. I played many different scenarios in my head, ranging from the most likely to the least plausible, wondering what exactly the future holds when Vegeta decides to come back to us; when he comes home to me.

I needn't wonder any longer, for he returned a day short of the date on which he had left. I remember how it all happened; Trunks was being fussy after dinner, and I was in desperate need for a walk. I held him close to me as he pointed at the stars, the vast emptiness of the backyard allowing for a clear sky free from city lights... my baby has no idea that half of his heritage belonged up there, to a place that no longer exists, a society which I imagined to be advanced, cultured, intelligent, if the royal heir is any example. I wish I could see it; I wish Trunks could see it. Oh how I wish...

I was deep in thought when Trunks started squirming and whining; it couldn't possibly be that he's hungry again, could it? He just had his eighth feeding in the past few hours only a while ago, but I assumed that because of his unique hybrid physiology, he was in need of more food. I had a bottle with me, and I tried to feed it to him, but he wasn't interested. I was exasperated, about to give up and come back in from the balcony when I heard a baritone voice from behind, calling my name.

My skin prickled, and I felt like my bones had just rattled; I turned around to see whether if I had imagined it, what with my pining for him like a lovesick puppy, longing after someone whom I know is twisted, broken and feral on the inside. But there he was, standing behind me, by the doors of the open lounge, wearing slacks and a shirt, his hair gold and his green eyes staring at Trunks and I with disbelief or shock; I can't really tell.

He's come back, and he's made it; he's ascended into a legend, and he's back. I feel hesitant about rejoicing after the fact for fear that he might disown Trunks and never come back again, so I kept quiet, unsure of what I should say. Trunks started feeling uneasy and started to struggle in my arms; for a year and a half old toddler, he had a lot of strength, and after a while, I couldn't hold him up much longer. I set him down on the floor and watched as he moved his chubby legs, crawling towards his father.

Before Trunks got close, Vegeta took a step back as though faced with a worthy foe, leaving a very unhappy toddler, who chose to bawl his eyes out right there and then; the sound was deafening, and my breasts tingled, the baby's cry triggering involuntary lactation. I was only dressed wearing jeans and a shirt, and the milk stained my shirt; I hugged my chest and walked towards Trunks, picking him up.

It's obvious that Vegeta isn't ready to meet with Trunks; wordlessly, I walk past him and headed towards the nursery, ready to put him into his cot after I feed him again. I felt both thrilled and anxious to see Vegeta after two years; I pined for him, longed for him, hated him, and was going absolutely insane thinking about him whenever I had a moment to myself. And now, he's come back. I dropped Trunks off with the nanny, my mood suddenly unable to deal with anyone; I locked myself in my room and lay in bed all night, trying desperately to fall asleep.

All that surrounded me was a vast darkness that was dead silent; I can hear the sounds in my head, memories of when he was mine for a few fleeting moments, before his pride called him to his duties. About how potent a kiss from his delectable lips felt, and how my world dissolved away into bliss when we touched... and after all this time has passed, after all the tortured nights and days where I lost sleep, work and sanity thinking about him, there he is. He's back in my home; so close, yet so far away. After a few hours of absolute waking torture, I decided that I'd rather pop a sleeping pill. The voices in my head that once sounded like my voice crying out in pleasure is starting to sound like the scream I heard myself screaming that night in the maze. Sandman, please take me away.

(Vegeta's POV)

Days, weeks and months blurred away as I pushed myself to endure my training at 400 times gravity; I achieved ascension after what felt like an eternity stuck in vast empty space with nothing but my demons to keep me company. The need to achieve my goal became my one obsession; I felt consumed, focusing on nothing more but how far I am able to push my limits.

I remember that night vividly; most of my body now covered in bruises, some old, some new, my now pale skin from lack of sunlight making the rainbow of bruises appear startlingly obvious. That olive green, sickly yellow, dark blue and smarting red that blends into a deep purple, smattering all over me, proof of my exertion, my dedication, my obsession; every bit of my muscles ached painfully, every blow feeling even worse than the last.

For a moment, my mind wandered in search for reasons why I should push myself quite literally to death; pride seemed like an obvious answer, and I feared to scratch deeper into the matter; at the moment, however, I was beyond caring. I searched deep within myself and dared to look inside the vast screaming darkness of my heart; the only light I see is when she smiles at me. When she looks at me in a way that's all trusting, open, unconditional... my heart skips a beat, and I feel a surge of emotions; my throat closes, and I panic. In that moment, I held onto the thought of the only woman kind enough to allow me to be close, and before I knew it, I felt it.

My energy level surged, and I felt its electricity crackle in my veins. _I made it, Bulma._

After a while mastering the nuances of it all, I decided that I couldn't stand the isolation anymore; not that I'd ever admit to it. I plotted the course home and hoped to the Gods that she'd still want to see me; I even stayed in that form because I was too proud not to be, now that I was able to.

The journey home seemed to last forever, and I felt a nervousness about me; I could barely sit still, so I ended up executing a few katas, bench pressing a few thousand times, clearing out the last of the food left in the pantry and spending hours in the bath tub, soaking the pain away. The smell of steam and blood permeated the air, and I lay there, holding my breath for as long as I can.

I don't know how much time passed, but it was long enough that the water in the tub had cooled down, and the monitor on the control panel was flashing. According to the screen, I'll be back at the Brief's hangar in 30 minutes; time to get up and get dressed.

{moments later...}

I could feel my heart beat in my mouth; despite the nervous wreck that I felt being, years of life under Freiza's servitude has taught me well the art of keeping what the earthlings would call a 'poker face.' The hatch started to hiss and clink, the locks winding back, the hydraulics preparing to let the door down... I was greeted by a very sombre looking Professor Briefs and a very enthusiastic looking Bunny; they seem pleased at my return, and Bunny even had a big plate of spaghetti in her hands.

I can only assume that the woman did not badmouth me after I had left; I feel somewhat thankful and secretly ashamed at my behaviour. I'll never admit it, but I am glad that I still have somewhere to go.

The first thing that came out of my mouth was "Where's Bulma?" It was as though I said it before even thinking about saying it.

Bunny smiled and gushed and said that she had a surprise for me, and that she was on the open air living room deck. Ignoring the smell of the delicious spaghetti bolognaise that the head chef prepares especially well, I hopped off the capsule and went off in search for the woman I've tried so hard not to think about. I sensed her chi, and that of another person; I couldn't place my fingers on who it could have been, wondering if perhaps Kakarot's brat is paying her a visit.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw when I turned the corner; there she was, dressed casually, and on her hip, a child with lavender hair. I stared for a while before stepping closer; it took a few more moments before I dared to call her name.

"Bulma." She shivers like leaves in the wind before squaring her shoulder to turn to face me. I looked at her, at the child, questions dancing in my mind, never reaching my tongue. The look in her eyes says it all; _it's yours_, she seemed to say. Those beautiful blue eyes... this time, I return to two pairs staring at me. She set the child down, and he began to crawl at me.

I notice all too soon that the child is missing its tail; I deduced that she had it removed, just as Kakarot and his brat had with theirs. Another blow to my already shattered pride; I know that it's for all our safety, to avoid the lunar transformation, but I can't help but feel sorrow; disgusted with myself, my weakness, I took a step back, and suddenly, the child wails, almost shattering my ear drums.

The woman hugs her chest as she moves to pick the child up; I can smell milk in the warm spring air, the smell of her perfume as she walks past me, carrying the child back in, presumably to put it down to sleep. I have a million things on my mind wishing to be heard, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to ask them.

I retired the night back into my old quarters, which remained well maintained, I might add; I felt a self loathing creeping over. It was as though I needed to see her, to touch her to soothe this unsated hunger I feel brewing inside me; the longer I wait being this close to her, but not be with her, the more agitated I felt. I tried ignoring it, spending the night in my warm bed, staring at the high ceiling of the hangar that housed my living space. I needed to see the sky; I needed to see her eyes as I touch her.

After many hours of frustration, I gave into temptation and headed to her bedroom, only to find that she just about to fall asleep; there was a bottle of sleeping pills on the side table, along with her mug of tisane. I crept through the open balcony doors like the thief that I am, into her bed. Snaking my arms around her, I pressed my face into her hair, breathing in all of her. She stirs, awake but extremely drowsy from the medication.

She turned her head, and with barely open eyes, looked at me and said "I missed you, baby." She snuggled close and curled into me, like a cat; I then felt tear drops on my chest, and I can feel her sorrow and joy at my return. I could only murmur apologies and kisses as I hold her close, wishing to Gods that it didn't have to be this way, and that I am here now, rest assured. She calmed a little, and slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep; suddenly aware of my own fatigue, I joined her in slumber, my arm around her as though she were my hard earned prize.

**END CHAPTER 9**

I had stir fried bean vermicelli noodles whilse typing this shit up at 2.50am. For my troubles, I demand reviews. Or else Canada will STRIKE!


	10. Surrender

Undisclosed Desires

**Chapter 10**

{Vegeta's POV}

I held her close, and immediately I can feel everything about her that makes her feel so alive and glorious; her silky soft skin, her full flesh, the curve and valley of her feminine figure, and the smell of her skin flooded my senses as she drunkenly paws at me, murmuring how she missed me, how she loved me... it felt surreal, but my senses were on overload, and I willingly let myself be taken away by sleep, no longer just dreaming of her.

I dreamt of her often; I find myself thinking of her when I have moments to myself, when I allow myself relief from training. I'll never admit it, because it makes me feel weak. I am not weak, and I will prove that to that lower class buffoon and the rest of them how powerful I can be.

I couldn't begin to explain how conflicted I felt the morning I woke up next to her, my arms firmly around her, her back flush against my chest, my nose buried in her gorgeous locks; the first keen emotion seemed to be shame at how hard the Prince of all Saiyans had fallen for a mere human. I could feel my brain reeling, my pride struggling to cope and deal with this. She's still asleep, and I take this opportunity to extract myself without her noticing; I get away easily, and I immediately run towards the balcony doors, ready to flee before the sun breaks into the horizon.

I find myself hesitating; I look back, and see that she looks so peaceful, so vulnerable, knowing how her hair and skin smells again after being depraved of it for what felt like the longest of time. That piece of me that came to life with emotion will serve me no good in battle; painfully, I crushed it and walled it back up, reminding myself that there is a task at hand. She cannot distract me, and no matter how much I yearn for her, I can't let myself succumb to it.

As I flew off into the predawn towards my quarters, I felt as though there were a stone in my stomach.

{Bulma's POV}

I know I didn't dream that he had return; his scent lingered on the pillow next to me, and I can hear the maids hustling and bustling about as I make my way down towards the kitchen, the smell of what felt like a grand meal in the making. Mum and the nanny were fussing with Trunks, and when they looked my way, I pretended not to see them; I can't deal with him yet, though I can hear him whining for me to feed him his breakfast.

I make my way to the kitchen for a bite before I head off to work in that messy hovel I call my office; the mandatory stiff cup of coffee and a fruit salad was what I had in mind, maybe a sandwich if I can be bothered. All of a sudden, I see him, sitting with his back towards me. I could always run back to my room and hide in slumber again, but I am too damn hungry to ignore the smell of grilled pastrami and cheese sandwich; my body is at that bloated stage where I seem to eat everything because of the monthly uterine renovation, as I call it.

I really wished I had worn something more than this flimsy half length dress gown and bunny slippers; my skin prickled and I felt goose pimples everywhere. I ignored him and made myself a sandwich, casually grabbed a cup of coffee from the fancy espresso dispenser that I cannot live without, and sat at the other end of the dining bar, hoping to at least steal a glance of him looking at me.

He was so distant, and I was desperate just for a glance from him, but all that happened was us eating in absolute stone cold silence, separate, though so close. That was the extent of our encounter; even if we were in the same room, he wouldn't acknowledge me, regardless of how awkward it felt, how flustered I end up feeling, it was as though I were never there; his face steeled into a mask, his addressing everyone else but me was short and curt, and for most of the day, he would be away, training.

I had never felt so alone in my entire life; I can't bring myself to look at my child, so I throw myself into work, but nothing quite gets at this sore spot in the corner of my heart. His attention to me was like nothing I had ever felt before; absolute, fierce, and brutally honest. My breath catches every time a piece of that memory slips into my consciousness, just like it would if he were skimming the skin of my back or kissing my neck. But this lonely hollow feeling that follows me around has driven me to drinking and medication again; the nausea, the appetite loss, the fatigue... the price I pay for turning to pharmacopoeia for solace.

Before I knew it, the calendar had crossed out, and it was now the 11th of May, the eve of battle. Not a word had been said between us, and I had grown so tired of the routine of waking to a frightful reality, only to fall back into fitful slumber where I dream of having him in my bed. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to play some bluesy tunes and drink to nurse this foul mood of mine. Some might call me self absorbed and selfish for essentially abandoning my child in the hands of hired help, but I don't want him to sense my being upset. So alone I drink, as words crooned out of my speakers...

_I went down to the St. James Infirmary  
>I saw my baby there,<br>She's laid out on a cold white table,  
>So cold, so sweet, so sweet, so fair.<em>

_Let her go, let her go, God bless her__  
><em>_Wherever she may be__  
><em>_She can search this whole wide world over__  
><em>_She won't ever find another man like me_

It was between seasons, and I decided to dye my roots a different colour from the original aqua colour that I was born with; I had always preferred purples, like my father's hair, but in honour of the occasion, I decided to go blood red because why not. It's only fitting; blood shall be spilled, people will die, and chances are, I will know these people.

A sense of surreal dread beneath the deceptive calmness came upon me, and I tried not to think about it every time I take another sip of my Long Island ice tea. I drink to dull away the pain, the sorrow, the loneliness... music played from within my bedroom, the sun was in deep lull over the horizon, and here I sat, drunk and alone on what could possibly be the last days of peaceful existence. At first, I felt numb to it all, but the second I heard his voice call my name...

It was as though I were jolted with a strong current. Here he is now, perched on the marble balustrade, dressed in all black, all cotton, all heat and desirability.

I loathe how he comes and goes as he pleases, and yet I am incapable of turning him away. It's him who I dream of every night slipping through my fingers as I scream and plead to whoever's listening of this unspeakable sadness I feel to go away... hoping that he'd come back, only to wake up alone again. I still wake up alone, even if he is back; he never comes to see me, nor has he any showed any interest in his child.

The realization that tomorrow is when the scales may tip against us, that we might be as good as dead in less than 24 hours, for all you know... I looked at him and he looked at me, and the wind whistled against the silent night; the unbearable tension of seeing him again, caught unawares, dishevelled, drinking, crying...

"What do you want?" I asked in monotone; I was stressed out, exhausted and just about ready to fall into a chemical haze and off to sleep.

"The child; is it part Saiyan?" Straight for the jugular; that's how I remembered him, and that's how he is now.

"If you're asking if the child is yours, then yes, Vegeta; he is your son."

Silence falls, and it's awkward and heavy; dense enough to choke me. I chug back what's left of my beverage and went to the bar to make another. I'm unsteady on my feet for a moment, and before I could move, he was there, in front of me. Dark pools of obsidian stared into my soul, and I felt like a moth drawn to the light, unable to resist.

That first kiss in months was hard and brutal, knocking the wind out of me; I wanted to pull him into my embrace and meld into his fire, to show him how I feel. It was as though he could read my mind; before I knew it I felt the soft cushioning of my bed, silk sheets that cool the fire on my skin momentarily before clinging onto sweaty skin hours later.

At first, I swore I caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, a sort of apprehension which fleets as his brows furrow, and he grabs or thrusts a little harder and I end up touching my face with both hands, my upper arms pressing my breasts together; I forget about everything else when that blissful explosion rocks me, and he holds me tight against his chest... all I can sense is his musky scent and how it surrounds me before everything fades to black.

END CHAPTER 10

Sorry for the lack of updates, I am swamped with school work. And it's mounting to let's say an epic showdown; I am on the fritz. My hair looks terrible on account of all the split ends. REVIEWS MAKE ME HAPPY.


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